


The Higher You Rise

by Kitacular



Series: More than Brothers [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal, Athos Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Boys In Love, Cock & Ball Torture, Kink - SO MUCH KINK, M/M, Multi, No really... utter filth, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Predicament Bondage, absolute filth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-10-20 02:29:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17613737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: With two relationships settled and three Inseparables have become four - A relationship is tested by pressures from the present and from the past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written or posted here - Like most of us... There's a whole offline world that encroaches but a few people have been commenting on my previous works and it woke me up a little! Here I've returned back to the coverage of the first series. Breaking Into the Inseparables covered The Exiles and then many adventures were had in between.
> 
> When I began this series I said I felt their journey from not knowing each other to being best friends was a little fast and I wanted to fill in the gaps from a totally pervy "everybody is gay" way. I think the last couple of stories have done that and so we return with A Rebellious Woman.
> 
> (Oh and the WHOLE THING is super super porny... Just saying)

“That must have been horrid today,” Aramis mused as he settled into his armchair, watching Porthos closely.

The darker man didn't answer from where he was sat in his own chair, a deep brooding expression on his face. They'd been escorting a parade through town when a young woman had broken through the crowd and been crushed to death under the royal carriage.

Athos had come with them to the home Porthos and Aramis shared and walked now onto the thick rug that marked the living area of their rooms. He clapped Porthos on the shoulder as he passed and, with his other hand, passed him a bottle of wine.

“Ta,” Porthos grunted, taking the bottle.

Aramis watched him but relaxed somewhat when Porthos sighed deeply, shaking himself out of his gloom.

“You say Constance knew her and the missing girl?” Athos asked.

“Yeah. Been stood with them both in the crowd apparently,” Porthos answered. “She was so small.”

Aramis let Porthos brood for a few seconds before saying his name softly.

“Sorry,” Porthos said, shaking himself again. He took a long swig from the bottle and passed it to Aramis before sitting back heavily in his chair. “Yeah. Apparently she attended the comtesse de Larroque's salon as part of lessons. But proper lessons not just writing and reading. Science stuff as as well.”

“In secret, I assume?” Athos asked.

Porthos nodded.

“It's not like the nobility approve of commoners knowing as much as _they_ do,” he muttered.

Athos bristled slightly but let it pass. Porthos had grown up the child of a freed slave, stealing and fighting to live while Athos had grown up the heir to lands and, to this day, held them and their title. Aramis met his eyes for a second but Athos shook his head. Porthos had reached the girl's body first and Athos could allow a passing comment without taking offence.

“They attended the same lessons?” Athos asked.

“You suspect a link?” Aramis asked.

“It won't hurt to ask,” Athos mused.

“What did Tréville say about your thief?” Porthos asked, lifting his head, the deep frown finally easing.

“It turns out the victim was actually Father Sistini, the Jesuit priest,” Athos commented.

“Luca Sistini?” Porthos asked, frowning still but in vague recognition this time. He turned to Aramis for assistance placing the name.

“He's the one who thinks the Pope should rule every Catholic country in the world,” Aramis explained.

“Right. 'finks the Pope should be able to arrest and kill Kings and Queens who don't do as he says?”

“That's him,” Athos answered, a small smile turning the corners of his lips.

“The King was not impressed,” Aramis said, grinning.

“Sistini was encouraged to enjoy his _brief_ stay,” Athos said drily.

Porthos chuckled.

“Aramis told me about 'im. How did the Cardinal take it? I know he loves the church but he has his hooks in the King. Does he in the Pope?” he asked shrewdly.

“Well as I said to you when he wrote the pamphlet, the Pope is the ruler of _Catholics_ on Earth, not all _people_. The King is the ruler of all the people of a nation. God loves all people, whether they follow his laws or not. I'm not sure the same can be said of a human messenger on Earth, even if that messenger is His Holiness. Men are fallible,” Aramis said.

Porthos nodded, remembering the conversation. Aramis had brought the pamphlet home one morning from church and they'd discussed it at length. It's where he'd known the name from.

“You don't think the Cardinal will seek to elevate the Pope's authority and then use his influence with the King to further that agenda?” Athos asked. “As Cardinal, he holds an extremely senior position in the Catholic church. He's quite senior among the school of cardinals itself, is he not?”

“I think Porthos has the measure of Richelieu. It's far easier for him to manipulate the man he sees all day, every day than one he sees only every few years in Rome. Were the Pope the ruler of all, he would send instructions to his Cardinals around the world and they, including Richelieu, would be bound to follow them as well as making sure their Kings do. In the current situation, Richelieu has a hand in actually making the rules and has a much greater influence than he would as the Pope's serf,” Aramis said thoughtfully.

“I see the logic in that,” Athos said, inclining his head. “We visit the comtesse's salon tomorrow?”

“Yeah. If we wait until after breakfast that's when Constance says Fleur and Therese went most days,” Porthos said.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


The morning was growing late as the four men exited the comtesse's salon. Athos briefly instructed Aramis and Porthos to return to the garrison and report to Captain Tréville that Fleur was not present before nudging d'Artagnan in the direction of his quarters.

“What's wrong?” d'Artagnan asked, searching the older man's face under his hat.

Athos didn't answer and d'Artagnan simply walked briskly beside him. It wasn't until they were in the single room Athos called home that the Musketeer spoke.

“We kissed,” he said bluntly.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise, being completely unprepared for this revelation.

“You and the comtesse? OK,” he said slowly.

“We agreed that we would neither lie nor fail to disclose things from one another,” Athos said.

“Oh,” d'Artagnan said, his face brightening. “Well thank you for telling me, then.”

“You... You don't mind?” Athos said, searching the tanned face carefully.

“I can't deny I'm slightly jealous of her,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning. “I haven't kissed you for two days.”

Athos removed his hat and stepped closer to d'Artagnan. He gently placed his hands on d'Artagnan's slender waist, maintaining an unusual amount of distance between them.

“Would it please you to know this as close as we got and I merely returned her kiss rather than initiating?” he asked softly.

“It would,” d'Artagnan said, smiling. “I don't wish to hold you back, however. If it would make you happy to spend more time with her, I encourage you to do so.”

“She asked me to dine with her tonight,” Athos admitted.

“What did you answer?”

“I didn't,” Athos said.

“Would you like to go?”

“I haven't spent time with you for so long,” Athos answered, his eyes tracing the shape of d'Artagnan's lips.

“Two days,” d'Artagnan said. reasonably.

“That's a long time,” Athos argued, his voice lowering.

“I think you should go. I think you like her,” d'Artagnan said gently. His hands were roaming absentmindedly across the back of Athos' leather doublet.

A small amount of colour came to Athos' cheeks and d'Artagnan grinned at his unusual shyness.

“She spoke of all women being equal,” Athos said, frowning.

D'Artagnan tilted his head at the slightly unexpected tone.

“You don't think so?”

“Men aren't equal,” Athos said, frowning at the wall over d'Artagnan's shoulder.

The Gascon extracted himself from Athos' embrace and retrieved a bottle of wine from the chest beside the door. He hid the small smile that came to his lips when he noticed none of these bottles had been touched since he was last here. Athos' drinking was under control, then.

When he returned to his lover, Athos had removed his sword belt and hat, and was undoing his doublet. D'Artagnan sat the bottle on the small table before adding his sword belt to the chair on which Athos' lay.

“That makes you dislike her? That she sees equality when there is none?” d'Artagnan asked, confused. “Might it not be that she's simply seeing the world as it could be? Hope and freedom, like she said.”

“I don't think so,” Athos said slowly as he tossed his doublet over the wooden baseboard of his bed. “It's more a complete ignorance of how the world truly is.”

D'Artagnan sat beside Athos on the small bed and studied the man's profile. His lips were pursed and the frown lines were back between his eyebrows.

“She reminds you of your former self,” d'Artagnan said softly.

Athos didn't respond for several long seconds and when he finally did, he simply nodded without looking at d'Artagnan.

“You learned,” he murmured.

Athos nodded glumly but finally turned to look at d'Artagnan, sadness in his eyes. The Gascon pressed a hand gently against Athos' cheek. Any mention of his past, any reminder of the life he'd left behind made Athos impossibly sad. Out of everyone he knew, only d'Artagnan was aware of the treachery and tragedy that had made him leave that life. It was the same treachery that made him so adamant about being told the truth and clearly why he felt d'Artagnan must be fully aware.

“You aren't that man any more,” d'Artagnan said quietly, his hand still resting on Athos' cheek. His thumb traced the man's cheekbone under the ungroomed hair. “You are wiser, more humble, more generous, more considerate.”

Athos turned his head slightly to kiss the small of d'Artagnan's wrist.

“You have done me so much good, d'Artagnan,” Athos said softly.

“Offer a little of yourself up,” the Gascon said quietly. “Perhaps your experience will be useful to her.”

“You think I should go?” Athos asked softly. His tongue swiped over the thin skin of d'Artagnan's wrist before he pressed a more lingering kiss to it.

“I do,” d'Artagnan answered, smiling.

“Then I will. I want you to know I will keep you informed and pursue no more than companionship without informing you fully,” Athos said formally.

“I understand,” d'Artagnan said gently.

“That truth and honesty is the foundation of us, d'Artagnan. I won't do anything to jeopardise that,” Athos insisted.

“I understand,” d'Artagnan repeated more softly.

“I still feel bad leaving you on one of our nights together. I haven't had you in my bed for so long,” he said.

“Two days,” d'Artagnan said again, grinning.

“That's a long time,” Athos repeated, his voice lowering just as it had done earlier.

“It's not even noon,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“So true,” Athos said, his own hands reaching up to take d'Artagnan's away from his face. His thumbs rubbed gently against the same place his lips had covered seconds ago.

“Send a messenger to your lady and I will reward you for being so bold,” d'Artagnan said.

“Oh?” Athos asked, reluctantly standing and picking up his doublet. “How?”

D'Artagnan leaned back on the bed, resting on his elbows.

“By being bold,” he said, smirking.

 

By the time Athos returned after grabbing the first messenger he could find and then bounding back up the stairs to his room, d'Artagnan had stripped down to just his underwear and was sat against the wall, hands stroking his firm tanned belly.

“How bold of you,” Athos said, licking his lips at the sight.

“Indeed,” d'Artagnan said, looking up through his impossibly long lashes. “Perhaps you're a little overdressed for the afternoon's activities?”

“I don't know what they are,” Athos countered, unbuckling his belts.

“They require no clothing,” d'Artagnan said bluntly.

“Yet you're still wearing some.”

“I'll happily match you,” he answered, lightly.

Athos raised an eyebrow but got undressed anyway, the hunger in d'Artagnan's eyes along with the sight of him in Athos' bed made the Musketeer semi hard before he'd even tugged his shirt off, finally leaving him in just his braies. He made an imperious gesture at d'Artagnan.

“I said I'd match you... Not go ahead of you,” d'Artagnan said, smirking.

“My my,” Athos murmured, stalking forwards until he was knelt with a knee either side of d'Artagnan's thighs. “Aren't you mouthy today?”

“Bold, Papa. Just bold,” the Gascon replied, his voice losing its cocky edge with Athos so close.

Athos ghosted his lips across d'Artagnan's, just touching enough to feel his mouth part eagerly, before pulling away and standing back up.

“Very well, my lovely boy,” he said.

Without flourish, Athos unlaced his linens and let them drop, leaning down to push the bottoms over his calves. As he stepped out of them, he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Very well,” d'Artagnan echoed, rising gracefully to his feet. He swept an arm to the side for Athos to take his vacated spot on the bed, unable to resist brushing his fingers against the man's hip as he passed.

“You're so beautiful,” Athos said as he sat down.

D'Artagnan smiled warmly at his lover and stepped forwards but was stopped by a foot on his thigh.

“Enough,” Athos said firmly but there was familiar twitch of amusement under his moustache.

D'Artagnan was slower to remove his underwear, not letting his almost fully hard cock be visible until the last possible second. He stood watching Athos' dark grey eyes for several seconds while he stroked himself slowly. He gestured for Athos to do the same and silence fell, the gentle teasing gone as each man's eyes focused intensely on his lover's hand stroking themselves.

It was only when they were both fully hard and starting to pant slightly that d'Artagnan took a step forwards.

“Lay down,” he said, shakily. “Face the wall.”

Athos raised an eyebrow, able to guess why but complied anyway. This was new territory. So far in their relationship, all penetration had been exclusively in the opposite direction.

“Very bold,” he said softly as he arranged himself comfortably on his side, his back and buttocks exposed.

A hand smoothed across the skin of his back and he sighed contentedly.

“I love you,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan joined him on the bed and Athos' cock throbbed with anticipation.

“I love you too, Athos,” the unseen d'Artagnan replied softly.

There was a lot of rearranging and Athos remained silent until d'Artagnan finally stilled.

“Are you okay pup?” he asked.

“Yes Papa,” d'Artagnan whispered, arousal thick in his voice. “Will you help me?”

Athos smiled at his nerves and nodded.

“Of course my love,” he said quietly.

A hand stroked over his buttock and he smiled to feel the oil on his fingers leaving a trail across the fine dusting of hair. A second, dry, hand pulled his buttock up, leaving the space between them exposed. Air passed across his entrance and again his cock throbbed impatiently.

“With my trigger finger?” d'Artagnan asked, shakily.

“Yes but only when you feel I'm ready. Just touch me first,” Athos said calmly. “It's been a while.”

He sighed when he felt d'Artagnan's index finger press tentatively against the muscles guarding his entrance. The oil was plentiful and when the finger moved in one long stroke across him he moaned quietly.

“Is that good?” d'Artagnan asked nervously.

“Very,” Athos sighed. “Try and think what feels good for you.”

The finger grew lighter and was soon joined by another. The two oiled digits began to move in light circles around his entrance but maddeningly stopped short touching the centre of the ring.

“You're so firm,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“I really am,” Athos replied, amusement in his voice. “Aren't you? I would have hoped you were enjoying this too.”

D'Artagnan laughed behind him and the fingers began to press a little harder, enough that he could feel the muscles responding now, as the Gascon relaxed slightly.

“Oh I am, Sir. You're so... tempting,” d'Artagnan replied quietly.

“Mmm,” Athos said, sinking happily against the bed. The pattern d'Artagnan's fingers were making was rhythmic, a repeated circle, pressing on the tight ring of muscle. He began to breathe in time with the motion but inhaled sharply when the tip of d'Artagnan's index finger pressed fleetingly against his entrance itself.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan whispered.

“Do it again,” Athos nearly moaned.

D'Artagnan complied but kept his fingers moving. He began to stroke up and down over Athos' hole.

“Does it... feel different?” Athos asked. “From when you did it before?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan breathed. “It feels like... softer?”

“That's... I'm...” Athos tried to say but his body arched slightly as d'Artagnan slipped the very tip of his finger into Athos' body. His breath whooshed out him.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan repeated.

“No... It's good,” Athos said, regaining his voice. “I was trying to say ready. I'm just... Feels very good, pup.”

D'Artagnan's body relaxed again and Athos clenched briefly around d'Artagnan's finger. The same chuckle sounded and the digit started moving. Slow, gentle strokes seemed to turn Athos' body to jelly and he sighed happily into the pillow.

It was long minutes before he remembered that d'Artagnan was probably waiting for his guidance so Athos tilted his hips slightly, offering himself up to d'Artagnan.

“More please,” he murmured.

The finger withdrew and for a moment Athos felt that unpleasant empty sensation but it was short lived as a moment later two fingers were pressing at his entrance. There was a slight burn as his unpractised muscles widened to allow them access but it was quickly replaced by a pleasant ache as they began to move inside him.

After several gloriously slow minutes of this, Athos tilted his hips again.

“I want to fuck you,” d'Artagnan said hoarsely.

Athos' cock throbbed, not just at the thought but at the uncharacteristic vulgarity. He moaned softly.

“I... I want that,” he said in a whisper. “You're... considerably wider than two fingers, however.”

“You want a third?” d'Artagnan asked, his voice thick. There was a confidence there that made Athos throb again and he had to squeeze his cock to alleviate the pressure.

“Don't,” d'Artagnan said, suddenly firm. Athos tensed but d'Artagnan's voice returned to its slightly gravelly tone. “I want you to spend with me inside you.”

Athos moaned again, louder this time, and squeezed himself hard.

“Okay, puppy,” he said. “This will be easier on my knees.”

“This felt... more romantic,” d'Artagnan said, uncertainly.

“Everything I do with you is romantic,” Athos said, twisting to look at d'Artagnan. “I want... I want to feel you... To feel you...”

D'Artagnan watched as the colour rose in his lover's cheeks and he became uncharacteristically shy.

“Athos?” he asked, removing his fingers, unsettled by this hesitancy.

“I know I can be aggressive so I don't want to... overwhelm you,” Athos said slowly.

“I'm good to go,” d'Artagnan said, grinning widely.

Athos' eyes narrowed slightly and locked onto the Gascon's. In the few seconds before Athos spoke, d'Artagnan's mouth went dry as a bone and butterflies rose in his stomach.

“I want to know you can see yourself fucking me,” Athos said darkly.

It was d'Artagnan's turn to groan deeply and he leaned over awkwardly to kiss Athos. Their half turned spooning position made the kiss clumsy and messy and neither man cared.

D'Artagnan stood on shaky legs while Athos rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself onto his knees. He arched his back slightly, offering his bottom up to his lover.

“I want you so much,” d'Artagnan murmured.

“I'm right here,” Athos said, smiling softly.

D'Artagnan nodded and quickly moved to his knees behind Athos, slotting in between Athos' legs. This shift in position parted Athos' cheeks and d'Artagnan inhaled sharply at the sight. He dipped his two fingers back in and both men moaned, Athos at the sensation, d'Artagnan at the sight.

It captivated d'Artagnan, the vision of his tanned fingers sliding in and out of the pink muscles, the way they parted for his knuckles, closed around the slimmer parts. His head was filled with the way his cock would look in the same position and he used his other hand to stroke himself slowly.

“More,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan complied, adding a little oil to his third finger before sliding all three in together. He felt resistance at this and paused when Athos' hips gave a little jerk.

“Athos?”

“I'm good,” Athos panted. “Just let me adjust. You'll feel it.”

D'Artagnan smiled and kept his hand still. With his other, he began to stroke his index finger on the space between Athos' entrance and the skin behind his sack, stretched tight as his cock hung heavy and hard between his legs.

“Oh puppy,” Athos breathed and his arched his back further.

D'Artagnan took the message and pressed his fingertip a little firmer, his own cock throbbing at the gruff moan Athos gave. Athos' muscles fluttered slightly around his fingers and he gave them an experimental twist, earning a longer moan.

“Your body wants me,” d'Artagnan whispered. “Feels like I should start moving?”

Athos nodded and moaned again when d'Artagnan did so, his digits moving slowly in and out of him. The clever Gascon began to twist them as they moved and the feeling of his body opening for his lover made Athos' arms shake. He shifted down to his elbows, tilting his hips up again. The slight shift made d'Artagnan shift too and his fingers took a more vertical path, moving deeper into his body.

“D'Ar... D'Artagnan,” Athos panted.

“Sir?”

“Too slow,” Athos growled.

“I don't want to hurt you,” d'Artagnan said uncertainly.

“Get on with it,” Athos snapped impatiently.

D'Artagnan laughed and obediently sped up, moving his fingers in and out more rapidly, setting up a steady rhythm that had Athos panting and his cock weeping onto the linens beneath him after less than five minutes.

“Now,” Athos growled.

“Are you sure?” d'Artagnan asked, his smirk audible.

“Yes,” Athos snapped.

D'Artagnan twisted his fingers to the left, to the right and then spread them slightly, forcing Athos' entrance to part a little more.

“Really sure?” d'Artagnan asked.

Athos twisted slightly to stare at d'Artagnan sternly.

“I want you inside me. I want to feel you fuck me. Now,” he said.

D'Artagnan could have come in that instant if he'd still been stroking himself.

“Yes Sir,” he said quickly.

The fingers withdrew and Athos couldn't help the sensation of loss in the few seconds before they were replaced by the blunt, spongy head of d'Artagnan's cock pressing at the still slightly parted hole. D'Artagnan moaned and pushed, one hand on Athos' hip and the other on himself to steady his entrance. Despite the three fingers, Athos' body still resisted at first and d'Artagnan worried he was going to hurt his lover until Athos pressed back and with a sudden lurch forwards, the head of his cock pressed home.

“Puppy,” Athos panted.

“Sir,” d'Artagnan moaned in reply, the sensation overwhelming him for a second. The heat was phenomenal and almost entirely unexpected. He'd sort of expected how tight it would feel, how well gripped he felt, but the overwhelming sensation of heated velvet surrounding him was simply glorious. After a few seconds he came back to himself and pressed further in but Athos jumped.

“Too soon,” he gasped.

“Sorry,” d'Artagnan said, quickly.

“Just rock with me,” Athos said, more calmly.

Slowly Athos began to rock back and forth on his knees and elbows while d'Artagnan matched his movements. Together they moved as Athos' entrance began to relax around him. Without needing to be told, d'Artagnan added a little more oil to his length and, as their bodies moved, he began to move further into Athos.

It was several wonderfully long, immeasurable minutes of this until d'Artagnan felt Athos beginning to push back impatiently and he gripped both of Athos' hips and pushed himself entirely into his lover. The deep guttural moan this caused was something d'Artagnan would never forget and he simply rested there for several long seconds, luxuriating in the feeling of being so deep inside the soft, wet heat of his lover.

“If you don't move this instant and make good on your promise to fuck me I will refuse to ever do this to you again,” Athos growled.

D'Artagnan laughed, his entire body relaxing, and stroked Athos' hips with his thumbs.

“I need a minute sometimes as well,” he said softly.

“I want you to fuck me, d'Artagnan,” Athos said, plainly.

D'Artagnan moaned loudly and withdrew slowly until just the head of his cock remained inside Athos.

“Watch,” Athos said hoarsely.

“Yes Sir,” d'Artagnan whispered and shifted his grip until he could hold Athos' cheeks apart with the heels of his hand. He moved back inside in one, slow, smooth stroke and nearly spent again at the sight of himself disappearing into Athos' body.

“Fuck,” d'Artagnan moaned.

Athos groaned and shifted impatiently. D'Artagnan repeated the motion, just as slowly, understanding why Athos wanted him to see this. It was a heady and unbelievably arousing sight to watch Athos' muscles shift around him, welcoming him, making room for him. He pushed back in forcefully and Athos groaned loudly.

“Yes,” he hissed, arching himself against the hard thrust.

D'Artagnan pulled back entirely, his cock coming free suddenly. Athos' muscles began to close but before they could, d'Artagnan pushed back in, marvelling at the way the ring was almost forced to accept him.

“I want you so badly,” d'Artagnan moaned.

Athos twisted and his eyes softened as they met the dark brown ones of the Gascon above him.

“Then take me,” he urged.

D'Artagnan's breath caught in his throat at the phrasing and he watched without breathing as Athos shifted until his chest was pressed flat on the bed. He reached back with his arms to spread his own cheeks a little further.

D'Artagnan took the invitation, moving his hands to Athos' hips and began to move faster. Each thrust was sharp, firm and almost painfully deep. They rocked Athos' body on the bed and he moaned deeply, turning his face to muffle the noise. The Gascon couldn't take his eyes off the point where their bodies met. Having Athos do this to him was his favourite thing in the world but he'd never realised it could feel so good the opposite way round. He felt close to Athos in a way he couldn't quite name. It was more than just connected or trusted. It was like he had a part of Athos nobody else could touch. Aramis had done this but not since they'd met d'Artagnan and it was something Porthos had never shared. It was a deep part of Athos he didn't allow many people to get close to and to allow him in was overwhelming emotionally and physically utterly wonderful.

“Sir.. I need..” d'Artagnan panted as the feeling of his orgasm rushed upon him.

“Oh yes,” Athos panted, almost desperate to feel his Gascon release inside him.

“I want you to... Please... with me inside you,” d'Artagnan gasped.

“Then... I... I need... Stay still and touch me,” Athos panted.

D'Artagnan complied, pressing as deep as he could into Athos' body, feeling Athos clench around him. He groped around under Athos until he found his weeping cock, hard as a rock. It took less than a second for d'Artagnan to gather enough moisture to stroke him easily.

“Faster,” Athos demanded, grinding back against the length impaling him.

D'Artagnan again obeyed, speeding his hand up, gripping tightly like he knew Athos liked. He could feel the tremors in Athos' body and knew he was close.

“Give yourself to me,” d'Artagnan whispered.

Athos nodded into the pillow and arched his back impossibly even further. D'Artagnan pressed forward with his hips so hard he could feel Athos' thighs trembling with the position as he was forced to hold some of the Gascon's weight.

With a deep groan, Athos finally reached his climax and he came, shuddering beneath his lover. With d'Artagnan's cock impossibly deep and like iron inside him, d'Artagnan's hand fast, tight and rough on his own member and d'Artagnan's other hand gripping him hard on the hip, Athos came apart, shaking and gasping.

Only when he managed to gain his breath back did he realise d'Artagnan was panting just as hard and as the two of them collapsed untidily to the bed, he realised the Gascon must have spent inside him after all.

“You're amazing,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan couldn't yet form words and simply sprawled across Athos' back like a heavily breathing blanket. He nuzzled into the back of Athos' sweaty neck and had enough presence of mind to press a moist kiss there.

 

Athos wasn't sure how long they lay there and didn't remember falling asleep but was definitely woken up by d'Artagnan stirring slightly.

“M'still inside you,” the slender man mumbled.

“It's okay,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan rolled away slightly but to Athos' surprise, he pulled Athos onto his side as well without dislodging himself.

“Rejoice in the rigours of youth,” he murmured as he felt d'Artagnan thickening inside him.

“This okay?” d'Artagnan asked, nuzzling into the back of Athos' neck.

“Very,” Athos whispered. “As long as you don't expect me to... rise to the occasion.”

“Just can't resist you,” d'Artagnan murmured, rocking his hips slightly while his cock filled out.

Athos murmured happily at the sensation of d'Artagnan growing inside him. It was one thing to receive an increasing number of fingers but this was something else. He knew his body would be able to take it so soon after their thorough love making but having d'Artagnan grow and thicken inside him was so different, so intimate.

“Feel so good,” d'Artagnan murmured into his ear. “Can feel my release inside you.”

Athos moaned in embarrassment and hid his face in the pillow. Cleaning up was something he was normally very diligent about but there was a lot of moisture between their bodies as oil and seed had gathered while d'Artagnan softened. As he grew harder, Athos was surprised to find he didn't mind the mess for the first time in his memory.

D'Artagnan rocked slowly, holding Athos tenderly.

“Sore?” he asked.

“No,” Athos answered in a small voice.

“Going to feel me through your dinner?” d'Artagnan asked softly, lips brushing Athos' ear.

The Musketeer moaned at the idea of being sore, freshly fucked, body tingling with the memory of d'Artagnan as he spent time with a woman. The idea made him feel warmed that d'Artagnan wanted him to think of him as well as absurdly dirty that he would have the secret of their so recent and thorough love making and Ninon would never know.

“Is that a yes?” d'Artagnan asked, pressing gently into Athos.

“Yes,” Athos whispered.

D'Artagnan rolled him onto his stomach without asking but stopped him when Athos tried to push himself to his knees.

“Just like that,” the Gascon whispered.

Athos whimpered, feeling suddenly small, when d'Artagnan withdrew entirely. He felt his cheeks flame in shame when d'Artagnan pulled his buttocks apart ad cool air hit his still hot entrance.

“Hey, hey,” d'Artagnan whispered. “No embarrassment with me, remember?”

He waited patiently, on his knees, stroking firmly across the muscled back, grounding his prone lover. As he felt Athos relax slightly he pressed gently back into his body and felt a shudder go through the man beneath him.

“I don't mean it to embarrass you, my love,” he murmured, rocking gently. His hands moved to Athos' waist but began stroking him again.

“When I say you're going to feel me all night,” d'Artagnan spoke into the quiet, grinding his hips in small circles, “I simply mean to head off your already stated feeling of betrayal.”

Athos simply groaned and seemed to melt into the mattress. D'Artagnan felt the acquiescence in his body and began to fuck into him more rhythmically. He sacrificed the gentility of the beginning for smooth, languid strokes. There was less urgency this time and having already come once, he was in better control of himself. He used this opportunity to simply get used to Athos' body. He experimented with speed, depth and angle until he had Athos panting beneath him at a pace far quicker than he'd intended.

“Thought you didn't think you could rise,” d'Artagnan chuckled affectionately.

“Can't,” Athos panted. “You feel good enough on your own.”

Athos couldn't name the feeling spreading through him. It wasn't submission like it was with Aramis and Porthos. It was surrender. It wasn't surrender where he gave up his power, though. It was more like he gained something by being able to trust this much, to love this much again. By putting enough of his faith in d'Artagnan to reach this moment, he had tapped into a deep well of emotion that was hitherto unreachable between them. He knew d'Artagnan wouldn't hurt him, he knew d'Artagnan wouldn't betray him, wouldn't lie to him.

D'Artagnan stretched out above him, covering Athos' back with his own sweaty body. Wet, hot kisses were pressed against his neck and he moaned deeply. His heart ached even as the motion in and out of his body continued. At this angle d'Artagnan was moving faster but far more shallow. He could feel himself being opened more and more with the motion even as his heart felt laid bare.

“Love you,” he gasped.

“Love you too. So much,” panted d'Artagnan into the sweaty mop of hair.

Athos drifted for a long time before he felt d'Artagnan's strokes growing erratic. His entrance throbbed with a delicious tenderness he would remember long after the actual feeling had faded.

“This... This moment...” d'Artagnan rasped into Athos' ear, “I've never loved anyone more.”

Athos was beyond words and simply mumbled his love into the pillow again.

When d'Artagnan finally came, his entire body collapsed onto Athos' and he didn't even have the presence of mind to kiss his neck this time. Hot breaths would have to do.

“You 'mazing,” he mumbled.

Athos couldn't answer at all. His entire body was trembling and there was a lump of emotion in his throat. He simply lay there, content and wrung out, in d'Artagnan's arms. One of the tanned hands found its way around to stroke the soft flesh of Athos' belly and the Musketeer found himself calming quickly.

“Yep.. 'mazing,” d'Artagnan repeated drowsily.

Athos chuckled and twisted, reluctantly slipping off d'Artagnan's softened cock, at which both men hissed in a breath of shock.

“So are you, my love,” Athos said. “Pass me a cloth please.”

D'Artagnan opened one eye and looked at Athos.

“Why must you make me move so soon?”

“It is least unpleasant when done sooner rather than later,” Athos countered.

“True,” d'Artagnan muttered and he reluctantly heaved himself to a sitting position and reached the cloths Athos kept by the bed for this purpose. He leaned towards Athos but the man shifted away, embarrassed.

“I'll do it,” he murmured.

“I made the mess,” d'Artagnan said firmly.

“One bridge at a time,” Athos said quietly.

“Why leave one bridge uncrossed?” d'Artagnan asked, just as quietly.

Athos hesitated for a beat but it was long enough for the gentle yet sure hands of d'Artagnan to roll him to his stomach. His face flamed to life at the feeling of seed leaking from him but he couldn't deny there was something strangely intimate in the action. D'Artagnan was gentle and thorough and before Athos knew it, the hands withdrew and by the time he'd managed to turn onto his back, d'Artagnan was snuggling up beside him.

“Two hours?” d'Artagnan guessed, glancing at the sliver of light coming in through the shutters.

“Three at least,” Athos corrected. He lifted his arm and d'Artagnan settled into his normal place, head pillowed on Athos' chest.

“Mmkay. Let's sleep. I'm tired,” he mumbled.

“I bet,” Athos said drily. When d'Artagnan chuckled, he leaned down to press a kiss into the tangled black hair. “Me too, puppy.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“A wren, hm?” Aramis asked.

Porthos looked sideways at his lover as they walked back to their home after making their report on the search to Captain Tréville.

“It was a nice brooch,” Porthos said, refusing to meet Aramis' gaze.

Theirs was a relationship built on a foundation of power and inequality so as soon as the comtesse had mentioned she wore a brooch that spoke of an inability and unwillingness to be caged, Porthos had expected this conversation. It was, after all, only a few months ago that foundation had been tested. Aramis still bore scars from the events wherein someone had learned of the ownership element of the relationship and felt the need to rescue Porthos. It had tested them as men and as a couple but they'd come through it stronger than ever. That didn't mean Porthos couldn't still tease Aramis.

“It was,” Aramis agreed.

Porthos worked hard not to smile and felt Aramis' eyes boring into the side of his head as they walked.

“What did you think of her ambitions?”

“You spoke to her about them,” Porthos answered.

“You heard them, too,” Aramis pressed

“I heard her call you a romantic,” Porthos said evasively.

Aramis didn't reply and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Porthos walked up the stairs to their apartment first to hold the door open for Aramis, as always, but as his lover passed through it, Porthos was dismayed to see genuine upset on the handsome face. He followed him through, closing the door behind him, and reached out to take Aramis' arm.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I'm no wren.”

“You are caged, then?” Aramis asked, wincing slightly.

“I am,” Porthos said, shamelessly. “Some birds are meant to be.”

“You don't think you should fly free?”

“At your discretion, sure,” Porthos answered, tugging Aramis' arm to draw him closer.

“Like a falcon?” Aramis asked, a small smile on his face now.

“Yes, Sire. I am your falcon.”

Aramis tilted his chin slightly and smiled wider against Porthos' lips when he pressed them together.

“My beautiful, savage, deadly, majestic falcon,” he hummed.

“Indeed Sire,” Porthos answered, kissing him again. “How long have we got?”

While they'd been giving their report to the Captain, a messenger had arrived from Athos requesting someone stay at the comtesse's salon while he took for her a stroll tonight.

Aramis laughed and kissed Porthos warmly.

“I thought you were going to fix the shutters in their room today?”

“I can do that when you're out,” Porthos mumbled, dipping his head to brush his lips gently against the column of Aramis' throat.

“You've been avoiding that task for months now,” Aramis countered.

“I'll do it tonight, then. Promise,” Porthos said, his voice rumbling.

“Volunteering me, are you?” Aramis asked, leaning his head to the side to give Porthos more room.

“Falcons can't stray too far from home.”

“They fly where and when they're told to,” Aramis countered.

Porthos answered by simply biting down gently on the sensitive spot where Aramis' jaw met his neck.

“You could just say please,” Aramis said, his laugh a little breathless now.

“I'm not sure what to ask for,” Porthos said, his voice rumbling, deep and seductive, across Aramis' pulse point.

“Well what do you want?”

“To show you I love my cage,” Porthos answered. He lifted his head to smile at Aramis.

“Cage, huh?” Aramis asked.

His constantly moving black eyes seemed to glitter with mischief. Porthos answered only by nodding but he couldn't stop the shock of arousal at the shift in his lover.

“Besides,” Porthos said finally after several long seconds of simply staring at one another, the air charged with sexual tension. “Weren't you going to teach me about women?”

“Well, you know,” answered Aramis, lightly. “It seems you have absolutely no need to learn about men.”

Aramis turned in Porthos' arms so his back was to him and Porthos began their normal ritual of undressing Aramis. He undid the two belts, stepping away to hang them both up. He couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the same sensitive place again when he returned to unwind the long blue sash from Aramis' hips. He next removed Aramis' coat, hanging it up reverently and returned to his lover, wrapping his arms around the man. He rested one hand on Aramis' belly, tangling his fingers in the loose fabric of his shirt.

“Definitely don't need to learn about men,” Aramis confirmed, his voice laced with arousal.

“Is that so?” Porthos asked, his voice lowering to a soft growl as one hand began to undo the knot at Aramis' breeches. Years of practice made him familiar with the way Aramis tied them and it was seconds before they came apart.

“Yes, mi vida. You certainly seem able to... handle them,” Aramis said, his hips giving an impatient twitch.

“I'm not sure I do any more,” Porthos hummed, the smile audible in his low voice. “My confidence has been knocked.”

“Oh?” Aramis asked, his hands coming up to raise his shirt. Porthos obligingly lifted his hands for a moment only to replace them both on the bare skin of Aramis' stomach.

“Apparently I can't tell when people are flirting any more,” Porthos said, stroking his thumbs idly across the sparse hair on Aramis' lower belly. “What I think is arguing is flirting so maybe what I think is flirting is actually arguing.”

“Does it feel like I'm arguing with you?” Aramis chuckled, leaning forwards slightly to press his bottom into Porthos' groin.

“I'm not certain,” Porthos answered, lips touching his lover's ear.

“Let me be more overt,” Aramis purred before abruptly spinning in Porthos' arms.

He pressed his lips to Porthos' with such vigour that the larger man was forced to take a step back. Aramis continued to lean his weight against Porthos until he got the message and walked backwards to the wall against which Aramis pressed him, moulding the length of his body to Porthos.

“You're wearing too many clothes,” Aramis said, his voice muffled as he refused to break the kiss to speak.

Porthos simply chuckled, allowing Aramis to control the kiss while he tried, and failed, to get his hands between them enough to undo his sword belt.

“I'm... going... to... need... some room,” Porthos managed to say between them.

Aramis' just made a disgruntled noise but continued to kiss Porthos with the same ferocity. His hands were tangled into Porthos' curls, pulling his head slightly to one side and keeping it there with an iron grip. After a few more seconds of this Porthos seemed to melt slightly, his weight settling more against the wall, his mouth going slightly slack as he submitted entirely to Aramis' talented tongue and lips. Aramis moaned greedily and finally broke the kiss.

“Mi vida,” he said, his eyes dark with hunger.

“Sire,” Porthos panted weakly, making no move to straighten up.

Aramis smiled wickedly and slipped to his knees, his groin tightening at the moan this provoked in Porthos. He was rough as he yanked and tugged on Porthos belts, dropping them to floor with a clatter and a thud. An impatient shove on the heavy leather of Porthos' thick doublet was all the hint the man needed to hold it up and out of Aramis' way. He effortlessly unlaced both breeches and braies, having taught Porthos over the years to use the same double knot he did on his own, and his grip on Porthos' member was tight and possessive.

“Sire,” Porthos repeated, his voice strained.

Aramis began to move his hands in rough, abrupt strokes that caused just as much pain as they did pleasure. Porthos made no protest, however. He simply clenched his hands on the thick leather and leaned more heavily against the wall. His hand was dry but the tightness, the twinges of pain, the rough grip... They all simply heightened the knowledge that he belonged to the man on his knees. The idea that his ownership wasn't even slightly in doubt despite his position on the floor made Porthos' heart swell even as he grew hard under the painful treatment.

“How about now?” asked Aramis, sweetly.

“Sire?” Porthos groaned, staring down in confusion at the mischievous smile on his owner's face.

“Does it feel like I'm arguing with you?”

“Well you certainly don't seem pleased with me,” Porthos managed to answer.

“Oh,” Aramis said, shrugging.

Porthos had only a second to smile before Aramis' mouth descended on his cock. After only two brief strokes with his mouth, he sank down on Porthos, his lips stretching around Porthos' considerable girth until he was brushing at the back of Aramis' mouth. He pulled off in one smooth motion and smirked up at him.

“And now?”

Porthos' knees buckled in answer, making Aramis' smirk widen. He returned his mouth to Porthos' length, smoothly moving up and down in long, wet strokes, his hand wrapped around the base of the dark skin. Porthos rested his head back against the wall for support but couldn't stay there for long, the sight of those thin lips wrapped around him too good to ignore.

“Sire,” he moaned weakly, looking back down.

Aramis gave no answer but simply began to press his tongue against Porthos on each stroke, his hand twisting with each stroke. The only sound in the room was the wet noise of Aramis' mouth and Porthos thought he might pass out when Aramis began to nudge Porthos into his throat.

The pace Aramis set was fast, furious and utterly overwhelming. His skill was without rival, except maybe Porthos, and it wasn't long before he was willing fucking his own throat on Porthos' thick length. The juxtaposition that he was fully dressed and had his cock deep in Aramis' throat while the marksman knelt nearly undressed and yet he held none of the power in this situation made Porthos light headed.

“Master,” he panted, fingers gripping his doublet for dear life as he felt his orgasm building. To come without permission was absolutely forbidden and, as expected, Aramis immediately let go of Porthos, settling back on his heels with a wicked smirk.

“Still unsure?” he asked, using his finger to swipe a clear line of drool from the end of Porthos' cock before putting the digit in his mouth and sucking it obscenely.

“No Master,” Porthos said, still panting.

“Good,” Aramis said, brightly. “Go fix the shutters.”

Porthos gaped at him in shock for several long seconds, his cock throbbing angrily in the air between them. Aramis rose to his feet gracefully.

“You have three hours. I'll be reading. I expect you to have finished or at least be at a reasonable stopping point exactly three hours from now. Then you will meet me in the bedroom for... well... then it's my turn,” he said, stroking his fingers across Porthos' sensitive member before turning on his heel and sauntering across to the rug.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


With eight minutes to spare, Porthos was naked and on his knees in his spot beside the door of their bedroom. He used the extra few minutes to slow his breathing and felt the calm of being at Aramis' service wash over him. By the time Aramis entered, he had reached his serene place where the only thing that mattered was the man who sat on the edge of the bed a few feet from him.

His eyes fixed on Aramis' cock as the man slowly drew it out and stroked it lazily. He was hard already and Porthos' mouth watered as his own cock hardened in anticipation.

“Did you get them finished?” Aramis asked quietly. He reached a hand out and Porthos shuffled close enough for him to stroke the dark curls.

“Yes Master,” Porthos breathed, leaning into Aramis' grip slightly.

“Good,” Aramis replied before giving a violent yank on Porthos' hair, pulling him forwards and onto Aramis' cock without warning.

He pulled Porthos roughly and nudged at the back of Porthos' mouth before he'd had a chance to breathe. He felt hands at his shins.

“Hands behind your back or I will tie them there,” he said sharply.

Porthos groaned deeply and complied. It wasn't often Aramis was violent and demanding but oh... when he was... His cock throbbed as Aramis' other hand joined its partner in his hair. Sharp, painful pulls on his hair dragged him closer on his knees on the wooden floor until he was framed by Aramis' long legs.

The brutality in Aramis' movements took Porthos' breath away. He was fast, unforgiving, unpredictable and there were tears streaming from Porthos' eyes as his gag reflex was triggered over and over. Under normal circumstances Aramis gave him time to adjust and Porthos was able to control it but today, he had none of that control. All he could do was grip his forearms behind his back, fingernails digging in as he simply hung on for the ride.

When Aramis came, he pulled Porthos down onto his length, pressing Porthos' nose into the coarse hair of his groin. He held him there for a long time as he stuttered and shuddered through his orgasm, emptying himself so deep down Porthos' throat, the man didn't taste a thing. He held Porthos there for an impossibly long time, long enough that Porthos' body was jerking as his brain told him he needed air. Aramis felt a slight aftershock of joy when he realised even then, when his body was involuntarily demanding air, Porthos' hands were gripped tightly behind him. Finally, he drew Porthos roughly up and off, shaking him slightly.

His eyes were glassy, mouth hanging open. Saliva covered his chin, matted his beard and there was a long, thick trail still attached to Aramis. Keeping one hand in Porthos' hair, Aramis tilted his head back at an uncomfortable angle and used the other to collect as much moisture from his cock, squeezing the last few drops of seed out as well, and swiping them across Porthos' beard while he lay the tip of his cock into Porthos' still open mouth.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” Aramis said hoarsely. “My amazing boy.”

Porthos blinked stupidly at him but made no other sign he'd heard. Aramis laughed softly and slid to his knees in front of Porthos. He reached around him, unlocking his arms and rubbing them gently. He slowly pulled Porthos forwards until he leaned heavily against Aramis' body. A huge, deep, shuddering breath went through him and Aramis simply held him, kneeling together, as Porthos' body struggled to deal with the flood of adrenaline. Tears were soaking his shirt and Aramis just smiled, stroking Porthos back with one hand, his hair with the other. Porthos began to nuzzle into the side of Aramis' neck, still crying as he came down from the adrenaline and Aramis began to speak to him.

“Oh mi vida,” he whispered. “You're so wonderful. You took it so beautifully. My lovely obedient boy. You're mine. My wonderful, beautiful amazing creature. I love you so much, mi vida.”

Aramis kept up the constant stream of affection as he slowly rocked their bodies back and forth while Porthos calmed down. When the tear stained face finally came up out of his shoulder, there was a tired smile in place of the vacant shocked look.

“Hi there,” Aramis said, stroking his face, thumbs wiping away the tear tracks.

“Hi,” Porthos croaked, his voice a little worse for the rough treatment.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” asked Aramis, chuckling slightly as he cradled Porthos' face gently.

“I know how much I love you,” Porthos answered, smiling back at him.

“You with me?” Aramis asked.

Porthos nodded and together they got to their feet, Porthos a little shakily.

“Do you feel up to a little game while I'm out?” Aramis asked slyly, guiding Porthos onto the bed.

Porthos rolled onto his side and looked up curiously. Aramis was re-lacing his clothes and smiling down at him.

“What kind of game?”

“A painful game.”

Porthos' neglected cock throbbed as a reminder of all he'd been denied. He gripped it firmly and nodded slowly at Aramis.

“Oh good! Consider it your cage,” Aramis said, clapping his hands together lightly.

The blanket of submission was still thick around Porthos yet the adrenaline was fading. He could feel it kicking back into gear as Aramis reached for him. He arranged Porthos onto his knees, facing the foot of their bed.

“Knees going to be okay like this for a couple of hours?”

“Yes, Sire. It's soft enough,” Porthos answered quietly.

Aramis recognised the still present passivity in his tone and pressed a kiss to his temple. He gathered a long reel of twine and his knife and surveyed Porthos' kneeling form.

“Oh this is going to be fun,” he murmured. “Close your eyes and you can look when I'm done.”

Porthos closed his eyes and listened to Aramis murmuring to himself. He recognised the sound of the twine being unwound and then cut with a knife. Aramis tutted to himself and more twine was unwound. He jumped slightly in surprise when Aramis' hand pressed against his nipple, talented fingers tweaking and plucking at it until it was tingling and erect. There was a strange sensation as Aramis' other hand joined it and he suddenly realised he was placing something over his nipple. Some more adjustment at what he realised was a twine noose was tightened over the base of his erect nipple. He groaned with arousal as the twine was tightened to a firm pinch.

“Hurt?” Aramis asked.

“Nearly,” Porthos said, honestly.

Another tug on the twine and Porthos groaned again.

“And now?”

“Yes, Sire. A little.”

Aramis made a contented little hum and repeated this exercise on the other nipple, again asking Porthos to tell him when it just became mildly painful.

“I'm to stay here with these?” Porthos asked in confusion. “You know it'll fade.”

Aramis didn't reply and Porthos heard more twine being unwound.

“Wrists,” he said cheerfully from slightly behind Porthos.

The kneeling man complied, offering his wrists up and behind him to Aramis who deftly tied a single loop around both wrists.

“Can you get out of that easily?” Aramis asked.

Porthos twisted them experimentally.

“Not easily Sire but I could definitely break it,” he admitted. His confusion grew when Aramis made the same pleased noise. Inescapable bondage was more his usual style.

The twine attached to his wrists was pulled back until it forced Porthos up on his knees, lifting his bottom off his heels. Aramis pressed between his shoulder blades until Porthos was half upright and half leaned over and then tied the twine off. Porthos realised he'd done it to one corner of the headboard instead of directly behind him. If he straightened up, however, the twine slackened.

His confusion was answered and his cock throbbed with the realisation when twine he hadn't realised was trailing from each nipple was then tied to the centre of the baseboard in front of him. It took Aramis several minutes to get the tension right but Porthos soon realised this position would grow harder on his thighs after a while. The only way he'd be able to relieve the tension on his thighs would be to lean forwards, pulling on his shoulder, or backwards, pulling on his tied nipples.

“You evil sod,” Porthos gasped.

“Agreed,” Aramis said brightly. “One more.”

Porthos froze and then groaned in arousal as a third loop of twine was wrapped around his cock and balls where they hung between his legs. The loop caught everything in its cruel grip as Aramis pulled it tight.

“Evil, evil,” Porthos groaned as the pressure began to build.

“Be grateful I've allowed you to get hard first. Imagine if I put your binding on first,” Aramis murmured into his ear.

Porthos groaned loudly and couldn't stop himself trying to lean back as Aramis drew the twine through his spread legs and tied it against the opposite bedpost to his wrists. The bindings Aramis referred to were a series of simple leather strips Aramis had fashioned that, when tied onto Porthos' softened cock, forced it in half, preventing it from growing hard. Even if it began to harden, the strips would cut in painfully. The idea of having that on while in this predicament made Porthos, who made no secret of how much he loved Aramis denying him release, ache with arousal.

“Still,” Aramis said, sharply.

Porthos froze where he was but kept up a steady stream of hisses and groans as Aramis adjusted each of the three pieces of twine until any movement pulled on either his wrists, balls or nipples. Even moving side to side hurt as his wrists and balls went in opposite directions.

“One more thing,” Aramis said quietly.

Porthos moaned helplessly as Aramis left the room. He tracked him by sound, listening to his footsteps return and the soft thunk of Aramis placing something on the small dresser at the foot of the bed.

“Okay. Open your eyes,” Aramis said thickly.

Porthos did and looked down. His nipples were slightly stretched out from his body, inescapably bound in twine. The twine was pulled taut to the board at the foot of the bed. His eyes followed and he saw what Aramis had added to the dresser. Their clock.

“I will be back in two hours or less. If I'm not back in two and a half hours, I am ordering you to break the twine on your wrists, remove all of them expect the one around my cock. Then wait for me on your back on the rug. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sire. Two and a half hours,” Porthos repeated back.

“The same instructions apply if anything feels wrong. I mean cramps, joints, numbness, anything that feels wrong. I am trusting you to know the difference,” he said sternly.

“I do, Sire. Pain is okay but if I feel a risk of damage, I'm to break my wrists free and wait with only my cock bound on the rug,” Porthos repeated dutifully.

“Good boy,” he murmured. He stroked a fingernail across the aching flesh between Porthos' legs, admiring the way the twine pulled everything taut, the skin of his sack pulled tight and shiny.

“My caged boy,” Aramis said softly.

“Yes Master,” Porthos groaned. He shifted his weight experimentally and his nipples were tugged painfully. Out of reflex he leaned forwards to relieve the tension and a painful yank on his genitals made his cock throb with arousal even as pain shot through them.

“I wish I could stay and watch. You're like a dinner show,” Aramis murmured. He stroked reverently down one of Porthos' thighs. “Maybe we'll do this in the evenings more often. I'm collecting a package tonight that will open up more of these possibilities.”

“Master?” Porthos asked, turning his head. “Tonight?”

Aramis had been hinting at collecting something new for weeks. Ever since he'd returned to full duties he'd been pleased about finding someone who made something.

“Yes. Tonight,” he said brightly.

Aramis moved to the foot of the bed and leaned until his face was just over an inch from Porthos'.

“Now kiss me goodbye,” he said wickedly.

Porthos groaned but complied, forcing his weight forwards to close the distance, shaking slightly as the pain shot through him. His groan turned to a whimper when Aramis held his hair tightly, forcing him to stay leaning forwards while Aramis kissed him hard.

When Aramis finally let go, Porthos sank back on his knees but went too far and his nipples were pulled sharply and he yelped. It took him three more adjustments to settle into place between the three strings and by the time he did, he was panting heavily as everything was throbbing from the stimulation.

“So beautiful,” Aramis murmured, captivated by the movements.

He tilted his head for a moment and then reached into a drawer for their fashioned cloth gag. It was a ball of cloth that Porthos accepted pressed deep into his mouth and then a second cloth wrapped tightly around his mouth, pressing the first piece deep enough to swallow all noise and keep his tongue pressed down.

“Finishing touches. Can't leave anything untouched,” Aramis said.

Porthos whimpered. The gag always made him feel impossibly vulnerable. He had always been a chatty, mouthy person and without his voice, he felt more dependent and submissive instantly.

“The gag stays in if you have to move as well. Understand?”

Porthos nodded his understanding and then whimpered as Aramis pressed a wet, sloppy, open mouthed kiss against his filled and stretched one. It was one of Aramis' favourite tactics to make him feel captured that even something as simple as a kiss was beyond his freedom to reciprocate.

“Two hours,” Aramis said. “Two and a half at the most for you,” he added as a reminder.

Porthos nodded and hung his head, whimpering softly as Aramis left the bedroom. He listened intently to Aramis moving around, recognising the sounds of him buckling his sword belt last and he felt simultaneously dismayed and aroused when Aramis left the house without another word to him. While he would have appreciated the comfort, being left here like a toy waiting to be played with did confusingly arousing things to his mind and he flicked his eyes up to the clock. A small smile crossed his lips as he realised Aramis must have looked in on him one last time. He had left with the clock on 8pm... exactly.

 


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan reclined comfortably in Athos' bed. He was supposed to be cleaning his pistol as Aramis insisted everyone do at every given opportunity, but he was too happy.

He'd taken a step today with Athos he wasn't sure the man had managed to take with anyone before. He knew Aramis had penetrated him but this was different. This had been romantic, loving and impossibly intimate. He kept replaying the entire interlude in his head. The small moans the normally stoic man made. The way he kept tilting his hips up, offering himself. The way he panted his name. The way he gasped out that he loved him. There was nothing about the entire experience he would change. Even when he'd gone too hard too soon, Athos had simply guided him through it.

Athos had expected to be back after only a couple of hours but it had been nearly six. D'Artagnan couldn't decide if this meant things had gone exceptionally well or whether something had happened to Athos. It took a lot of effort to keep himself awake as his exhausted body kept trying to go to sleep but he was pleased he had managed it when the door to Athos' room banged open and the Musketeer stormed into the room. His hat was thrown violently across the room and the dark storm was on the Gascon in seconds.

He climbed on top of d'Artagnan and kissed him hard. At first d'Artagnan grinned and welcomed the passion but quickly realised something was wrong. This wasn't the enthusiasm of someone who had spent an evening remembering some very good sex. This was... angry.

“Athos,” he mumbled against the almost crushing pressure of the other man's mouth. He tried to say it again but couldn't seem to reach the man.

He reached up and blindly groped until he found Athos' ears, giving them a cruel twist. Athos reared up in pain and d'Artagnan shot out from under him and crouched defensively on the other side of the room.

“Athos!” he shouted. “What is happening?”

“I need to be close to you,” Athos growled staring wildly at d'Artagnan.

“No. No, Athos. Something's wrong. This isn't about me,” d'Artagnan said, holding his hands up.

“It is. Its all about you. Only you,” Athos said quickly.

D'Artagnan stared in confusion until Athos seemed to crumple where he knelt on the bed. He sank to the mattress, giving a loud, anguished moan as he did so.

“Athos?” d'Artagnan asked, edging closer.

“Puppy,” Athos answered, his head tucked in his arms. “Why did she lie?”

D'Artagnan sat tentatively on the bed and placed a gentle hand in the tangled mop of hair currently hiding Athos' face.

“What happened?”

Athos gave a pained sigh and pushed himself to a sitting position beside d'Artagnan. He leaned gratefully against him when d'Artagnan raised his arm for Athos to be held.

“I did what you said and took her to see Therese's body,” Athos began.

“I didn't tell you to do that,” d'Artagnan interrupted. “I said use your experience to open her mind, not expose her to the bloody, broken body of a young girl!”

“It was her experience of causing someone's death,” Athos said blankly.

“That's not... Carry on,” d'Artagnan said, wearily. Trust Athos to always interpret things in the most terrible way, he mused.

“When we returned to the salon it was to find the Red Guards searching the place. They were ruining everything, ransacking the place. They were searching for Mademoiselle Baudan as well.”

“We'd already searched it. The Comtesse said they weren't there,” d'Artagnan said, confused.

Athos raised his head and his grey eyes were clouded with pain.

“She lied to us.”

D'Artagnan understood immediately. He didn't need to hear the rest. The Red Guards had found the girls that Ninon had promised, to Athos' face, were not there. He would always take being lied to hard but to have it done by the first woman he'd liked since the one he'd loved murdered his brother... That would be agony.

“Were they hurt?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Not that I saw. They certainly didn't looked pleased at being rescued,” Athos said bitterly.

“Was Fleur among them?” d'Artagnan asked, thinking of Constance.

“I wouldn't have recognised her if she were,” Athos admitted.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them while d'Artagnan thought silently, and quickly. He was furious. Beyond furious. At Ninon for lying to them about the girls and for using Athos' feelings to make him trust her. At Athos for thinking he could cure everything with sex. For assuming d'Artagnan would just make him feel better when someone else upset him. For pulling the same stunt he'd tried months ago. It took a lot of effort for him to control his anger and he finally managed to speak, choosing his words carefully.

“So.. you chose to respond to this betrayal by...” he trailed off, unwilling to sound too accusing.

“I needed something true. You never lie to me. Everything you say to me is honest,” Athos said softly.

“I... understand that. I understand how awful it must have been to have had that reminder,” d'Artagnan said quietly. “You can't use me like that.”

Athos' head seemed to droop and d'Artagnan felt a pang of guilt but knew he had to do this all at once.

“I'm not a bandage you can put on as soon as something hurts,” he continued. “I'm not going to accept any kind of intimacy like that when it's not about me.”

“But I can... With you, I'm... It's the only way I can be close to someone,” Athos protested weakly.

“That's not how it works, my love. Just because you have managed to reach a place where physical intimacy with me is easy, that does not mean you can use it to substitute other forms. Remember when you tried this before?”

Athos winced at the reminder. Early in their relationship Athos had struggled getting close to d'Artagnan and had tried to manipulate him with alcohol.

“You certainly cannot substitute intimacy with me to shore up hurts other people cause,” d'Artagnan said, allowing a little bit of heat in his voice this time.

“I'm sorry,” Athos said, still very quiet.

“What you and I have is special, unique. It's just us. It's just ours. It's nothing like Aramis and Porthos. It's nothing like any couple we know. It's just ours. For you to think you can just... transfer us to someone else and, worse, use me to build a relationship with someone else hurts, Athos. You hurt me,” d'Artagnan said.

“I'm sorry,” Athos repeated and his voice cracked slightly “Are you going to leave?”

The small broken, wounded way he said it made d'Artagnan's anger evaporate in an instant.

“No,” he said softly.

“Why do people lie to me, d'Artagnan?”

“I don't know,” d'Artagnan said, honestly.

“Evidently, I am not a trustworthy man,” Athos muttered.

“You are, Athos. You are the best person I know,” the Gascon replied earnestly.

“Yet it's only you that tells me the truth,” Athos pointed out.

“Aramis and Porthos trust you with a secret that would cost their lives,” countered d'Artagnan. “The King trusts you. Captain Tréville trusts you more than any man in the regiment.”

“I doubt everything people say to me but you,” Athos said, turning his head back to d'Artagnan. “When you speak to me, I know it's the truth. When you tell me you love me, I know it to be true. I see the truth of it in your eyes. I feel it in your touch. I know it with everything I am.”

D'Artagnan kissed him lightly.

“I do love you,” he said.

“I love you too. I'm so sorry for treating your love so carelessly,” Athos said.

“I accept,” d'Artagnan said quietly. He raked his eyes over Athos and the Musketeer looked exhausted.

“What happens next?” he asked. Athos' head shot up in confusion and d'Artagnan smiled briefly. "With the Comtesse," he clarified.

“Tomorrow myself, Aramis and Porthos are to escort her to the Monastery of the Holy Cross, where she will be put on trial,” Athos said, sighing.

“A Monastery? For a trial?” d'Artagnan asked, frowning.

“It's holy trial apparently," Athos muttered, derision clear in his voice. "I need to collect Porthos and Aramis at dawn. They don't know yet. Aramis left after the Red Guards took her to the Cardinal and I spent the remaining hours with the Captain and the Cardinal trying to get answers.£

D'Artagnan tried to suppress a smile. Athos still cared about what happened to Ninon, then.

“Just the three of you?” he asked.

“Cardinal's circus,” Athos said, apologetically.

D'Artagnan nodded but the rejection still stung. He still wasn't a Musketeer and while his friends didn't seem to care and even Tréville treated him as a member of the regiment, the fact was his shoulder remained bare. A fact the Cardinal loved to point out at every given opportunity, clearly this being one of them.

“I'll keep Constance up to date. I assume the girls are all being sent home?”

Athos nodded.

“I'll make sure Fleur is okay, then. Try and find out any information that could help... the situation,” he finished, lamely.

Athos nodded again, seeming not to notice d'Artagnan almost suggesting they help Ninon.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Athos' shoulder gently. “There's only a few hours left before dawn.”

Athos nodded and allowed d'Artagnan to undress him to just his braies but when they got into bed, instead of simply enjoying the comfort, he curled tightly around d'Artagnan, holding him a little more than normal. It wasn't long before he felt the slim body in his arms fall asleep and he followed soon after, dreams filled with visions of white gowns and Ninon standing over Thomas' still body.

 

 

 

At the two hour mark, Porthos' thighs were trembling with holding the position. He felt like not a single part of him was spared this ingenious trap. A fleeting part of him knew things could probably be much worse but at this moment, he felt utterly captive, controlled... caged.

With a huff of frustrated laughter, he cursed having used the phrase with Aramis. This was definitely a cage. His thighs were burning as well as trembling, just from this half kneeling, half crouching position Aramis' trap demanded of him. Aramis was, however, no fool. He'd known Porthos was fit and muscled enough to cope with it for much longer than two hours but he'd also chosen a position that would cause constant use of his muscles, constant exertion, rather than one in which he could rest on either his knees or calves.

The pinch he'd told Aramis would fade had not done so, owing to the constant tension and unavoidable tugs to his bound nipples. They were currently throbbing and yet, malevolent genius that his owner was, it was a deeply arousing pain. Combined with the sharp pulls to them, he would have been rock hard from those alone, let alone the rest of his predicament.

His shoulders were also burning, being held outstretched behind him, albeit at an angle. Again, however, Aramis' intelligence came into play and the angle was really rather forgiving. His joints weren't actually under any stress but his muscles were having to work constantly, just like his thighs.

The worst of all his bondage was the best of all his bondage. The tight loop around his testicles and at the base of his cock was absolutely, wonderfully, excruciatingly, painfully arousing. Simply having his genitals bound in any way would have turned him on but to have it done in such a way that caused constant low level pain made him love Aramis all the more. At first he found himself leaning forwards just a little simply to feel the pull and the pressure. It seemed Aramis had thought of even this, however. If he tried this, his wrists were pulled away in the opposite direction, making his shoulders ache all the more.

Despite its powerful bondage, his cock had been hard and aching since Aramis had put the twine there. Tears of frustrated arousal clung to his lashes and he wished he could just succumb to the haze this heady cocktail of arousal, pain and submission was causing.

Even this, however, had been predicted by Aramis and denied him. The strict time limit he'd been given meant he couldn't lose himself. Staring at that clock was the only thing he'd been given to focus on other than the constant pressure. Aramis' anger would be greater than his pleasure if he found Porthos had disobeyed instructions and let the time limit pass without breaking.

Two hours had passed so far, which was around the time Aramis had expected to be. He'd made allowances for being longer, however. Porthos hoped he'd not need to break out, though. He imagined Aramis walking through the door, looking in at him, still bound in position, just as he'd been left. Knowing he had been like this, waiting, caged. Would he undo the bondage straight away? Toy with him first? Force him to lean forwards like he'd done before leaving? Set his body into a painful rocking pattern as it tried to find its balance again? Maybe Aramis would even fuck him like this. Rock Porthos' body back and forth himself. Push him painfully forwards with every thrust. Every stroke of Aramis' cock would yank hard on his bound one. Even when he'd pull back and Porthos' genitals would have relief, his nipples would be tugged forwards.

Porthos groaned at the thought but even that was denied him by Aramis' inescapable presence. The gag he'd tied into Porthos' mouth suppressed even his own reactions to the diabolical predicament. He opened his eyes to see how much time had passed while he'd been imagining his owner's return.

Three minutes.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis comes home to find Porthos in his cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I think it goes without saying that I don't support unattended bondage given SSC and RACK and all that good stuff for us sensible folk but soldiers in the 17th century were somewhat reckless and so are these two)

Aramis had to put effort into stopping himself from running up the stairs, eager to find Porthos.  If he was right, he was narrowly inside the time limit he'd set and would find Porthos still bound in position. Despite the delay at the Comtesse's salon, he'd also managed to collect his new prize and his fingers stroked the highly polished wood in his pocket.

He forced himself to walk slowly up the stairs, knowing Porthos would have picked up on the sound of his boots and would be straining to hear more. Porthos would track him through the apartment so Aramis made sure to move calmly as he entered, divested himself of hat, belts and coat before entering the bedroom.

“Looks like I'm just in time,” he said quietly, looking at the clock. “No breaking out for you, then. I still have ten minutes to play with.”

Porthos nodded, moisture filled eyes locked on Aramis' face. His heart swelled with gratitude when the first thing Aramis did was to gently remove the gag and kiss him.

“Shh,” Aramis said softly, stroking Porthos' jaw while he flexed it.

Porthos nodded again, understanding the instruction to remain quiet, even without the cloth binding his mouth. He smiled weakly when Aramis kissed his sweaty forehead.

“You're so beautiful mi vida,” Aramis hummed. “Anywhere hurting?”

Porthos raised his eyebrows and Aramis laughed.

“You know what I meant. Can you last the few minutes?”

Porthos nodded but lifted his chin hopefully. Aramis indulged the silent request by kissing him again, a soft, lingering, open mouthed kiss.

“I picked up our new toy,” he said quietly. “Will you close your eyes for me or do you want to see it first?”

Porthos' curiosity was almost painful after weeks of hints but the way Aramis had phrased the question left Porthos no feasible option but to please his lover so he closed his eyes.

“Ti amo,” Aramis murmured, stroking Porthos' face.

Porthos leaned into the hand, smiling softly, as Aramis' hand stroked down over one of his bent shoulders, down his ribs and across his hip. He let out a sudden, pained, groan when one of Aramis' fingertips brushed over his swollen, aching testicles. They were pulled tight against his skin and were unbelievably sensitive after their hours of bondage.

“Goodness, mi vida. They are almost the same colour as a bruise,” Aramis whispered.

Porthos groaned again as the image formed in his mind. Purple skin. Was it shiny? He knew the twine was pulled tight enough to hold them out from his body, stretching his perineum down and away from his pelvis. He groaned again when Aramis pushed gently on his buttocks, stretching the twine further. He went willingly but Aramis read him too well and pushed him a bit further, beyond where Porthos would have wanted to stop. The sensation crossed the line from pleasure into pure pain and even as it did, his penis throbbed with arousal again, recognising its master.

Aramis let go and instantly Porthos' body sagged backwards, the twine on his nipples giving them a painful tug. His body immediately began its torturous swaying motion where it repeatedly over corrected from each pull of its bondage until it finally settled.

When he'd finally found his balance, body throbbing angrily, he heard an awed sigh and his skin prickled with arousal, knowing Aramis was watching. He felt remarkably out of control with Aramis present. It was as if this fiendish tug of war between Aramis' designs rendered his choice irrelevant all of a sudden. Without Aramis here, he'd felt better able to control his balance but with him here and able to force his body any direction he wanted only heightened Porthos' feeling of powerlessness.

The quiet, familiar, pop of their oil being uncorked caught his attention and his entire body tensed. He let out a small whimper as his fantasy flashed into his head.

“Shh. I won't fuck you like this,” Aramis said quietly, stroking Porthos' hip. “At least not when you've been like this for so long,” he added as an afterthought.

Porthos relaxed slightly but wasn't surprised to feel Aramis' middle and index fingers entering him with no more preparation than the oil he'd rubbed on his hand.

“I love how your body is always ready to accept my fingers,” Aramis' voice said from behind him.

Porthos groaned his agreement. He and Aramis both knew one of Porthos' favourite things, aside from having his orgasms denied, was the aching stretch of his muscles being forced apart for Aramis' pleasure. The two fingers twisted and spread and Porthos' body was flooded with a fresh wave of arousal as his body was again manipulated beyond his control. The fingers began to pump in and out and, despite it only being his digits, Porthos felt gentle yet painful tugs on all three tethers with each fast, stabbing thrust.

“Of course each time I want you, I do have to do this or risk damaging you,” Aramis mused. He added a third finger without warning and Porthos growled with frustration, unable to do more than simply accept them and the continued pain the pulls of the twine brought, his shoulders aching anew.

“Do you ever wish I didn't need to?” asked Aramis.

He stopped thrusting his fingers and began to simply twist the three of them back and forth, widening Porthos' entrance while the bound man could do nothing more than allow himself to be used.

It felt like an age of this before Aramis stopped and finally removed his fingers. Porthos' entrance felt soft and still open. Aramis pulled his cheeks apart and Porthos groaned, feeling like his owner could see inside him.

“Beautiful,” sighed Aramis.

Porthos blushed but mercifully one hand left his skin, offering him a measure of privacy. His relief was, predictably, short lived when, to his surprise, something cold, hard and blunt pressed at him. It was rudely forced into him and his body lurched forwards in surprise.

“Porthos,” Aramis said, sharply.

It was an unneeded chastisement. The shock of pain to his genitals reminded him well enough not to move. He settled into place quickly, his mind too occupied to register his nipples taking up the strain again.

Aramis was unrelenting. The object was quite wide, not far off Aramis' girth, it felt. Being so solid, however, it felt harder to accept. There was no give in it, no softness. Porthos made a low groaning, growling noise as it was thrust shallowly in and out of his body.

He marvelled at the sensation, quickly finding the joy in the perversion. He was just Aramis' toy. Strung up to be entertaining and forced to accept whatever manipulations Aramis dreamed up. It was both impersonal and yet deeply meaningful at the same time. To be used by an object brought it home to him how fully and irrevocably he belonged to Aramis and his head went fuzzy with the feeling.

“Oh my beautiful boy, Aramis whispered, watching Porthos' body melt somehow, accepting Aramis' will without conflict.

Porthos hummed contentedly in answer but again his body was forced forwards in an unwilling jolt of shock when the object was suddenly pressed further into him and his muscles closed around it.

“Shh, shh,” Aramis soothed. One hand resumed stroking Porthos' hip as if he were a startled horse, but his fingertip on the other hand seemed to be stroking a line around the inside of his buttocks.

He flexed his muscles experimentally and realised with a deep groan that the object was still inside him. There was a more slim portion of it that was preventing his entrance from closing and yet the wider part Aramis had been thrusting in and out of him seemed to be stopping it from leaving his body. Equally there seemed to be a strip of the same hard, unyielding material laying in a line between his cheeks. It was this rectangle of what Porthos realised was wood that Aramis was currently tracing. This would stop him drawing the object in as well. It was well and truly lodged into his body, filling him, stretching him, claiming him.

“It is so much better than I ever imagined,” Aramis sighed. “I had it custom made for you. The wide part is the same width as three of my fingers side by side and it tapers down into that thinner part. That's the same width as my two fingers.”

Porthos groaned deeply again, the claimed and possessed feeling growing again. That Aramis would have gotten such a device made was not so surprising but the fact that Porthos' entrance was being moulded so specifically to Aramis' design touched something deep inside him and made him feel possessed inside and out.

“Oh,” Aramis breathed. A long finger traced the underside of Porthos' hard, aching cock, gathering the moisture there. He slipped the tip of his finger into Porthos' mouth where he obediently licked the fluid from it. “You like that. Your body likes knowing who owns it.”

Porthos nodded emphatically, his muscles in constant motion around the object, now relishing its unforgiving nature. He leaned back, tightening the strain on his incredibly painful nipples, when Aramis began to tap lightly on the base of the device.

“Time for bed. Athos will be here at dawn,” Aramis said brightly.

Porthos growled at the denial, his entire body vibrating with the force of it. His weeping cock, burning nipples, throbbing testicles and now his aching, stretched entrance were all clamouring for release and tears of frustration built in his eyes again.

He was, however, grateful when Aramis released the tethers without flourish, simply cutting the three taut lines with his dagger. He rubbed at Porthos' shoulders for a moment as they were released before swiftly releasing the loop binding his wrists together. He helped Porthos' tired body to shift onto his back and began to rub at his thighs as well. Porthos groaned hungrily as the object was jostled inside him with the motion. His eyes were still closed when Aramis leaned down to kiss him deeply.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Every time I move, it moves,” Porthos whispered.

“Talk to me,” Aramis murmured, his hands moving to Porthos' red, angry nipples.

“It feels wider than your fingers,” Porthos said. “Like I'm being held open, waiting for you.”

Aramis moaned his approval as his fingers fiddled with the twine.

“You are,” he said simply. “Keep going.”

“I feel full. Like if you, ah! Like you're inside me,” Porthos continued, yelping as the blood rushed into his first freed nipple. Pain shot through his chest, biting and inescapable. Aramis quickly released the other and Porthos felt as though each beat of his heart sent a fresh stab of pain through his chest. The pain left him breathless and he panted through it, Aramis' hands stroking his ribs soothingly.

“Only one left,” Aramis said wickedly, fingers stroking Porthos' inner thighs. “Keep talking.”

“I don't have the words, Master. It's... It's as if you've forced yourself inside me but intend to do nothing more than make me feel you. I'm just... ah... ready... Sire!” he answered, finishing in a loud groan as the last piece of twine came free. Blood rushed back to the area and if he'd thought he was hard before, now he was positively twitching with arousal. Every time he clenched his muscles around the solid device inside him, his cock jumped where it stood, hard and leaking just above his belly.

“Just what I had hoped for,” Aramis purred. “Sit up?”

Porthos complied and the two of them shared a heated look as the position pushed the peg further into him.

“Work on your thighs,” Aramis said gently.

Porthos obediently began to rub firmly at the muscles as Aramis got undressed. When he removed his braies, Porthos licked his lips as Aramis, too, was hard.

“Comfortable?” Aramis asked, nodding at his thighs. “Lay down for bed, then,” he added when Porthos nodded.

Porthos moved into his normal position, on his side, back against the wall. His cock gave an angry throb of desire when he realised this instruction meant the peg was staying put, at least for the night. He blinked in surprise, however, when Aramis knelt on the bed beside him. His confusion turned to frustration when Aramis began to stroke himself, watching Porthos.

“Do you have any Earthly idea how attractive you are” Aramis asked, his hand tugging on himself regularly. “In that incredibly arousing cage, those nipples hard and throbbing. Even now... I know they're hurting for me and yet you want me to hurt you more.”

Porthos knew instinctively he wasn't to answer and simply groaned.

“Touch them. Hurt yourself for me,” Aramis moaned.

As Porthos complied, teeth gritted while he pulled and pinched on his abused nipples, Aramis' hand sped up and he began to pant. “Harder,” he said breathlessly.

Porthos gave a pained groan as his thumbs pressed harder into the angry stalks of flesh. He obediently pulled sharply on them and growled. He heard Aramis hiss in satisfaction and the knowledge his suffering was turning his owner on made his cock give another impatient jerk where it lay, still rock hard, on the mattress between them.

“I love it when you suffer,” Aramis said darkly, his voice shaking. “I love it when you're desperate.”

Porthos growled again, the pain in his nipples forcing his eyes closed and he turned to growl into the thin pillow.

“That's it,” Aramis hissed.

Suddenly Porthos' hair was grabbed painfully hard and Aramis thrust his cock roughly into his mouth. It was mere seconds before Porthos tasted Aramis' release. It covered his tongue and he had to react quickly to swallow as it rapidly filled his mouth.

Dutifully, he licked and sucked Aramis until he was clean and heard him begin to laugh as the sensations became too intense. He grinned at Aramis when the marksman collapsed exhausted to his side beside Porthos, still giggling.

“Gonna explain the red mark on your wrist?” Porthos asked after a few minutes, rubbing his thumb over the deep red line.

“Hit a red guard still wearing his helm,” Aramis explained, yawning. “They found the girls the Comtesse said weren't there.”

“You duelled?” Porthos asked, frowning.

There had been an increase in animosity and clashes between the regiments and both were under strict orders to neither duel nor obstruct each other.

“We didn't draw against them. Knowledge really is the best weapon,” Aramis reassured, chuckling to himself at the joke. “We stopped when we realised what they were doing aside from their mindless ransacking.”

Porthos didn't answer as Aramis chose that moment to turn onto his side and settled into Porthos' arms, pressing his buttocks back against the still hard length. His cock was still throbbing, his nipples were sill burning, Aramis' instructions having renewed the pain, and the peg inside him was stretching him so deliciously he could already feel his muscles aching around it. Aramis gave another small wriggle and Porthos groaned with simultaneously delighted and aroused frustration.

Dawn felt like a very long time away.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ninon is put on trial

Athos rolled his eyes at the sight that greeted him when he called on his two best friends at dawn. They were both still getting dressed and given the state of Aramis' bruised lips and tangled beard, it was not long since they'd seen the morning in well.

“Going to able to ride?” he asked Porthos, eyebrow raised.

“I am now,” Porthos answered, smirking. Aramis laughed loudly, hurriedly gathering his cloak around him and Athos decided he'd rather not know.

“Where do we stand?” Aramis asked.

“The Church has claimed dominion over proceedings and we are to transfer her to the Monastery of the Holy Cross this morning to await trial,” Athos said.

“You mean the Cardinal has claimed it?” Porthos asked, scowling.

“Quite,” Athos agreed.

“So she isn't being charged with kidnap then?” Aramis asked, confused. “That's what the guards said when they arrested her.”

“It appears not. The charge is now witchcraft.”

“That's madness,” protested Aramis as he led the way down the stairs to the street.

“She held the girls in secret,” Athos muttered, following him.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a look over his head as they mounted up and the three of them rode in silence to the prison where Ninon had been held overnight. When they stopped at the jail, however, Aramis took Porthos aside while Athos spoke to the Red Guards at the gate.

“Seems to be taking this personally,” he observed quietly.

“He doesn't do well with people lying to him,” Porthos said, sadly.

“Especially not someone he cared about,” Aramis agreed, watching as Athos disappeared inside. “How are you feeling?” he asked, voice lowering further, when they were alone.

“Brilliant,” Porthos answered, grinning wide. “You?”

“Delighted,” Aramis answered and the two of them waited in a comfortable silence.

Athos returned a few minutes later and mounted his horse.

“This way,” he said tersely.

Aramis and Porthos followed suit and trailed behind him to the side gate of the jail, where the cart was parked. The red guard was helping Ninon mount while another also sat a horse beside them..

“This _gentleman_ insists on riding with us lest we help her escape,” Athos said, pronouncing the word as if it were another name for some sort of faeces.

“How co-operative of him,” Aramis said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Yeah... 'cause it's not like the three of us could do anything if the red guard said not to,” Porthos said drily.

The red guards didn't answer, choosing to simply glower at them under their helms.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Do you think he will hurt her?” d'Artagnan asked, watching from the window as Fleur and her father walked away.

“No,” Constance said, wearily. “He's a good man, he really is. He does love her. He just sees the real world instead of the romantic fantasy world Ninon has shown her.”

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

“In my experience, yes,” Constance said with a sigh.

She pushed herself up from the table, the stack of cloth that had just arrived catching her eye. Reluctantly she moved into her husband's study to collect the ledger into which the fabric was all logged and was surprised to find d'Artagnan had followed her.

“So romance isn't a part of the real world?” he asked her.

“I'm sure it is for some people but not everyone and it's just foolish to aim for it. It's also cruel to tell everyone that it's possible,” Constance said, pushing past him.

“I have more hope than that,” d'Artagnan said, following her back to the parlour.

“Farmers can marry for love,” Constance said, sharply. When d'Artagnan didn't reply she looked up at him. “Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be harsh. It's just that for a good life, a woman has to make a good marriage.”

“I'd have thought a good woman would make a good life of whatever situation she was in,” d'Artagnan said from the doorway.

“A good woman should accept their lot in life,” Constance said, shaking her head.

“A good woman wouldn't condemn others to her unhappy fate,” d'Artagnan said quietly, dropping into a chair beside the table.

Constance winced slightly and there were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence as she entered the first of the cloths in the ledger.

“Will Fleur be alright at the monastery?” she asked.

D'Artagnan watched her hand as it wrote delicately in the ledger for a few seconds before answering.

“She should be. It's a religious trial and even then Fleur is only bearing witness. As long as she doesn't try and lie, she'll be fine.”

“She wouldn't lie,” Constance said, aghast.

“You know what the Cardinal is like,” d'Artagnan said, inclining his head. “No matter what Fleur says, he'll make it sound how he wants rather than how she does. If she then tries to lie to help Ninon further, it will make everything harder for all of us.”

Constance turned and gazed out the window in the direction the young girl had left with her frustrated father.

“That sounds like her. She loves Ninon dearly and would do anything to help her. If only I could do something, _anything_ , to help her,” she sighed.

  
  


  
  


  
Aramis' heart was troubled as they rode for the city. It wasn't so much for the Cardinal's life as Aramis was fairly confident he'd managed to force Richelieu's body to expel the poison. There was a niggling discomfort about how the Queen had interpreted his gracing the Comtesse with the protection her Majesty's gift had brought him. Her assumption they were intimate bothered him more than he'd like but even that must wait. His concern lay with Athos.

The man who had raged in that Holy courtroom was utterly out of control with fury but since then he had scarcely uttered a word. Although he had retrieved the King from the city while Aramis and Porthos had tended to the Cardinal, he had taken no part in the discussion about who might have done the poisoning. He had offered no comment on the King and Queen intervening with regards to Ninon's sentence and had scarcely reacted when Porthos had told him she'd been found guilty. Athos hadn't been present for the verdict, having left the room to get himself under control. The single comment he'd offered to explain his own reaction to Madame de La Chapelle was the one he had made as Aramis' returned Porthos' hat.

“Her whole life is a lie.”

Porthos and Aramis had silently agreed in that moment not to press Athos on it as an attempted on the life of France's First Minister was of much more importance. Athos still seemed entirely distracted, however. Rather than focusing on the Cardinal's attempted assassination, he was concentrating on the theft of Sistini's bag. The way he rode now, however, like a man possessed, made Aramis fear slightly.

Over the last few years, Athos had gradually become a much more emotionally stable man. This had become more true since he had grown to love their young Gascon brother. The look in those grey eyes now, however, reminded Aramis of some of their worst moments with their admittedly taciturn friend. He was always calm and reserved but today there was a maddened, wild gleam in his eyes that gave way occasionally to a frighteningly dead look. It was a look they had seen before and it meant Athos had given up all hope.

As they approached the city gates, Athos slowed and Aramis went galloping past at first. He tilted his head to look at Aramis from under the brim of his hat and the marksman's heart broke a little at the slightly lost look on his friend's face.

Porthos slowed to a trot and gave his head a small shake at Aramis, who turned and followed, hearing Athos do the same.

Porthos lead them to the yard, tossing his reins to Jaques the young stable boy. As Aramis dismounted, he heard Porthos barking orders to a messenger. He waited until Athos had dismounted and steered him to their normal table under Tréville's balcony where Porthos joined them, messenger dispatched.

“Athos?” Porthos asked as he sat down opposite his friends.

Athos simply turned his head away and stared blankly at the wall. It appeared to Aramis as if there was just too much flowing through his head for him to latch on to. Aramis gently rested a hand on his arm but Athos shook it off, shaking his head wildly. He stood and began to pace, lips pressed into a hard line and Aramis exchanged a look with Porthos, accepting he wasn't ready yet for physical contact but unsure what else to do.

Mercifully it was only a few minutes until d'Artagnan came striding through the gates, his long legs carrying him immediately to their table where he stared around at them.

“What happened?”

“Someone poisoned the Cardinal in the middle of the courtroom,” Porthos said, bluntly.

“After the Comtesse was convicted of being a witch, sentenced to death and then had her sentence commuted by the Queen on the King's orders,” Aramis added.

D'Artagnan stared at them for a few seconds, trying to digest this. His eyes flicked towards the still pacing Athos and his brow creased in concern.

“We don't know,” Aramis said, following d'Artagnan's gaze. “A woman called Madame de La Chappelle gave the testimony that condemned the Comtesse. Athos seemed to recognise her and said she was lying.”

“Her whole life is a lie, apparently,” Porthos added, holding his hands up helplessly. “That's all he'll say.”

D'Artagnan stepped closer to Athos and took his elbow to stop his movements.

“Athos?”

The Musketeer roughly pulled his arm from d'Artagnan's grasp and resumed his frantic pacing.

“Athos,” Aramis began.

“Leave it,” d'Artagnan said wearily. “Who are your other leads?”

"Can't hurt to talk to Fleur," Porthos suggested and d'Artagnan nodded, his eyes on the silently pacing Athos.

 

 

 

 

 

“Well that was unhelpful,” muttered Porthos as Constance and Fleur left the courtyard.

“Did any of us really believe it was her?” Aramis asked, standing.

“What do we do next?” d'Artagnan asked.

“Sistini's bag,” Athos said.

“I hardly think that's the most important thing right now,” Aramis protested.

“He's leaving in the morning. We need to... I need to complete this,” Athos said.

D'Artagnan looked up from his seat at the bench to Athos' face, what little of it he could see. He was clinging to this, he realised. His life now. His life now as the best Musketeer around who could see a job through from random street fight to returning stolen belongings to a visitor in his city.

“Let's do that first. We can return it to him at the abbey and check on the Cardinal at the same time,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

Aramis went to protest again but Porthos rested a hand on his shoulder from where he was stood and Aramis gave up.

D'Artagnan followed Athos to his horse, calling for one of his own.

“Athos?” he said quietly.

Again, the Musketeer turned from him, leaving d'Artagnan speaking to his back.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set just after the Musketeers stop Sistini and the Cardinal agrees to exile her.

The adrenaline was just wearing off as the group walked from the Cardinal's chamber at the abbey. D'Artagnan followed Athos and Ninon to another bedchamber along the hall.

“Not a cell?” she asked, turning to smile weakly at him.

“No cage,” Athos said softly.

“No cage, no gag,” Ninon replied, stroking his face.

“I'll come for you in the morning. Red Guards will remain outside. While they are ostensibly here for the Cardinal's protection I strongly advise you do not test them,” Athos instructed.

She nodded and stepped into the room, closing the heavy door behind her. D'Artagnan watched as Athos pressed his fingers against the wood and gave him a moment before approaching.

“What time shall we come back?” d'Artagnan asked.

“You won't be needed,” Athos said, turning away again.

D'Artagnan winced and stood staring as Athos walked away. Porthos and Aramis came up behind him and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.

“Give him tonight,” Porthos said quietly.

They steered him gently out of the abbey and found Athos' horse gone before they reached their own.

“It was that woman,” d'Artagnan said, staring down the bridge where they could just see the dust Athos' horse was kicking up.

“He liked her and almost saw her die,” Porthos said, gently.

“What? No. Not the Comtesse. The woman you said he shouted at,” d'Artagnan said, irritated. “Something happened there and then. Something to make him turn inwards.”

“He'll come back. He always does,” Aramis said, stepping back as d'Artagnan swung up onto his horse.

“I'm getting a bit tired of the chase,” d'Artagnan muttered.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Another day off!” exclaimed Aramis, walking arm in arm with Porthos back to their home.

D'Artagnan had dismounted and immediately gone back to Bonacieux's while Aramis and Porthos gave their report to Tréville, including the bits that didn't officially happen. The Captain had not been impressed that they weren't able to tell him who the woman that Athos had raged at was but seemed satisfied with the outcome, if not actually pleased the Cardinal had displayed some compassion.

“Indeed,” Porthos said, grinning broadly. He tilted his head up to look at the darkening sky above them. “Shall we dine out?”

“With my new toy at home?” Aramis asked, aghast.

Porthos laughed and playfully shoved him as they walked.

“I'm going to learn to hate that, aren't I?”

“Hate... love... desire... despise... They're all so similar, are they not?”

“Sometimes,” Porthos agreed, still laughing as they reached the street door to their home.

As they walked up the stairs, however, the door at the top was ajar. Aramis drew his pistol as Porthos drew both of his. He nodded once and Aramis kicked open the door, Porthos stepping through first into a crouch, pistols out. Aramis stepped in behind him, remaining upright, pistol sweeping across the room.

They both relaxed, seeing Athos sat on the floor in the doorway to their kitchen.

“Are you going to shoot me?” he asked in a dull voice.

“Athos,” Aramis sighed in relief as Porthos straightened up.

Athos made no reply and Aramis grimaced to see two empty wine bottles beside him and a half empty one in his hand.

Porthos' hand caught his attention and Aramis blindly passed his pistol over. He crouched beside Athos.

“Going to tell us?”

“Can't,” Athos said weakly. He shook his head and seemed to regret the movement as his free hand moved to rest on his stomach.

“Where's d'Artagnan?” Porthos asked as he removed his doublet, hanging it up where his belts already hung.

Athos gave a bitter laugh.

“Good man, he is, my puppy,” Athos mumbled. “I'm not. I'm a bad man.”

Aramis stood when Porthos crouched, taking his place and began to remove his own accoutrements.

“Yet he chose you. Chooses you. Over and over,” Aramis said, looking down at Athos.

“Shouldn't,” he grumbled.

“Well he does. You don't get to choose who you love,” Porthos said, removing Athos' boots.

“Not everyone deserves love,” Athos grumbled.

“You don't get to say that either,” Porthos replied, bluntly.

Aramis nodded and Porthos stood. Together, the two of them pulled Athos to his feet and despite the mumbled protestations, half carried the drunk man to their long couch in the living area.

“Right. What the bloody hell is going on?” Porthos asked, as they stepped back.

Athos shook his head and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Who was that woman?” asked Aramis. He didn't get an answer either. “If you aren't going to tell us, maybe you should tell d'Artagnan?”

“I should. I just can't,” Athos said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Aramis asked, exasperated.

“He won't believe me,” Athos said, sitting up, seemingly more lucid.

Boots sounded on the stairs and Aramis smiled.

“No time like the present,” he said brightly.

Porthos stood to open the door and d'Artagnan walked in, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Athos.

“There you are,” he said, relief colouring his tone. “You weren't at the yard, you weren't at home. Nobody at The Rose had seen you.”

Aramis watched as a pained expression crossed Athos' face before his emotionless mask slipped into place.

“I needed to make sure they had passed on our report to Tréville,” he said calmly.

D'Artagnan looked slightly stung by this formality and frowned.

“And now?”

“Now I must return home and get some rest. It's been a trying day,” Athos said.

“Athos,” Aramis interjected. “I really think-”

“I think all three of you should enjoy your day of rest tomorrow,” Athos said, cutting him off. He strode to the kitchen doorway and began to put his boots back on. “I expect guard duties will follow these repeated days off so I suggest you gather your strength when you can.”

“I'll come with you,” d'Artagnan said, brightly.

“I will be rising early. Perhaps you should spend the time off in your own residence,” Athos said without looking at him.

Even Porthos was shocked by the rudeness and the three men watched in silence as Athos retrieved his hat from the floor and left without another word.

“You're welcome to stay here,” Aramis said gently when they heard the door at the bottom of the stairs close.

“I don't know why I try so hard,” d'Artagnan said, tears of rejection filling his eyes. “Every time I think we've made this big step forwards and he's opened some door to me, another is slammed in my face. Love is never uncomplicated, I understand that, but should it always be **such** a fight?”

“He'll come back,” Aramis said weakly.

“You've said that already and this is what happened,” d'Artagnan spat back. His voice shook as pain gave way to Gascony anger. “Even if he does it will only be a matter of time until the next thing sends him running away again. I can't do this any more.”

“D'Artagnan,” Porthos said, standing and taking a few steps towards him.

“I need to think,” d'Artagnan said and he, too, left quickly.

Porthos walked to the door and watched him down the stairs. He closed the door to their apartment, locking it and turned back to Aramis.

“What do we do?”

“This time, mi vida, I think we do nothing,” Aramis said, sighing.

Porthos nodded sadly and walked back to the rug, changing direction away from his armchair when Aramis pointed at the sofa.

He reclined back lengthways on it and opened his arms and legs for Aramis who sat between his legs, leaning his back against Porthos' chest.

“Love is complicated,” Porthos mused, resting his chin on the top of Aramis' head.

“True. I've always found the actual loving someone is easy. We live in sin according to some but actually loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” Aramis replied quietly.

His hands covered Porthos' where they rested on Aramis' stomach.

“I've never loved anything in this world more than you,” Porthos said softly.

Aramis trailed one of his hands down to Porthos' leg, finding the line of the leather strap just below his knee, their symbol of Aramis' ownership and their commitment to one another.

“I feel the same,” he murmured.

 

 

 

~The Next Day~

 

 

Athos wasn't sure how long he stood on that path after Ninon's cart was out of view. When he finally turned to go, his legs were stiff and his horse, though hobbled, had made its way well into the tree line.

He could still taste Ninon on his lips and sorrow flooded through him at having to say goodbye to her. They could have been such a good match, even if they never got married. Marriage, to him, seemed to curse a relationship. He'd loved Anne and things had fallen apart after they were married. Porthos and Aramis would never marry and they seemed indestructible. He and d'Artagnan would... d'Artagnan.

Athos closed his eyes as he crouched to undo the hobble. He'd treated his Gascon so poorly. Again.

He was the only person who knew enough to understand why Athos had been in such turmoil. He'd know what danger they were in if she was truly working for the Cardinal. He'd understand why he'd been so out of control in the courtroom. What had Athos done in the face of that potential understanding? Thrown it back in his face. Shut him out. That wasn't acceptable.

Having Anne back and openly working for the Cardinal, Athos could feel something was coming. She was dangerous and he wasn't fool enough to think that this single moment of saving the Cardinal would buy them much friendship.

If he was going to be whole and strong enough to face whatever storm was on the horizon, he would need d'Artagnan by his side. He loved him and it was time to stop pushing him away.

Athos mounted his horse and turned for Paris.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 

“Not that part, you idiot,” Constance said.

“I love you,” d'Artagnan said, simply.

The words seemed to hang in the air between them for long seconds before their lips finally met.

Dishes clattered to the floor as the months of unspoken passion flooded over them. Hands flew across stomachs, laces were undone, panted breaths passed between them.

Constance finally lifted her mouth from d'Artagnan's in a gasp when he finally managed to get her bodice undone long enough to slip one digit inside her top, rough finger brushing across a sensitive nipple.

“Okay?” d'Artagnan breathed.

“Do it again,” she insisted.

D'Artagnan did better than that and his whole hand slipped inside, grasping the tender flesh of her breast, lifting it up and out of the cotton. He repeated the act with the other breast until both were held up by her bodice but now uncovered. She felt a wave of lust as her eyes caught them, seeming to offer themselves up to d'Artagnan whose eyes were feasting on the pale flesh hungrily.

Her breath caught in her throat when each thumb passed across a nipple, sending lightning bolts of arousal directly to her groin. Bonacieux had never touched her like this, so reverently, so adoringly. Even when d'Artagnan pinched her nipples slightly, he did it with affection, with her pleasure in mind... with love.

“D'Artagnan,” she panted.

“Constance,” he replied, voice thick with lust.

Two strong hands gripped her thighs and with a squeal of surprise, she was lifted onto the table. Unwilling to allow any distance between them, she scooted close to the edge, returning her lips to his. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it free of the breeches she had undone earlier and d'Artagnan leaned back obligingly for her to remove it. Her mouth watered as the expanse of muscle was exposed to her eyes and she ran her hands up his stomach, up his chest, over his shoulders and down his back, pulling him close again.

“Don't stop kissing me,” she whispered.

“I have a better idea,” d'Artagnan replied, grinning wickedly.

His hands began to push her skirts up and she hurriedly began to help, eager to feel his hands on her in the most intimate place. A quick lift from d'Artagnan and she flicked the folds of material up until she was laid bare to the heated eyes.

D'Artagnan was incredibly gentle as he parted her thighs with his hands. He dipped his head to kiss her neck gently and moved more gently down, licking a stripe across her collarbone. She had to hold his head and shoulder when he began to kiss and lick at her exposed nipple, moving from one to the other. The sensation was nothing like she'd expected and every movement sent those shocks of pleasure down to her core.

“Lie back,” d'Artagnan urged, his hands gently taking hers off of him.

“You... Will we...”

“Not yet,” he promised. He smiled that devilish smile again and Constance felt a pulse somewhere she'd only heard talk of before. His hands returned to her legs under the layers of material and his rough thumbs stroked the smooth skin of her inner thighs, rising high enough she wished they were longer. “You told me not to stop kissing you.”

Constance gasped loudly as his implication sank in and her arms shook as she slowly lowered herself first to her elbows and then flat on the table. Her entire body shook with nerves as she felt the skirts ruffled and she nearly fainted when she felt d'Artagnan's hot breath pass over her centre. Gascons might lack tact but she was grateful for it when, without preamble, d'Artagnan licked a long stripe across her sex, tongue flattened. Constance gasped in surprise and then blushed as she realised her hips had come off the table, pushing herself against him.

D'Artagnan began to lick her properly, then. She had never heard of a man doing this although she'd heard it was expected of some wives to serve their husbands this way. It was something she could learn to love as the talented muscle began to dance across her. She raised her arms above her head, pillowing her head on them, as she let the feelings wash over her. He seemed to find every single sensitive place on her, varying between long broad strokes, tiny flicks of his tongue and she, again, almost fainted when he managed to tighten his tongue and first thrust it into her.

In her most shameful moments, she'd imagined d'Artagnan entering her and placed her fingers there but she had never imagined this. The moisture, the heat, the way he moved, lapping at her juices as he pleasured her.

Constance gasped, louder than before, when suddenly his tongue flicked upwards and found the place that had been pulsing. Her entire body shuddered when d'Artagnan focused his tongue on it, lapping across the nub of flesh as shocks of pleasure shot through Constance, leaving her gasping for air. When he pressed his mouth firmer against her, wrapping his lips around the button, and suckled slightly, it was like her insides had exploded. Ripples of sensation washed out in waves, making her cry out d'Artagnan's name as naked ecstasy overwhelmed her.

When d'Artagnan leaned over her and kissed her, his mouth and chin were wet and she realised with a wave of desire that was her wetness on his face. When she kissed him back, there was a sweet, musky flavour on his tongue and she realised this, too, was her. She gave a muffled cry of surprise when his hand touched her, two fingers stroking across her still wet sex.

“D'Artagnan,” she gasped.

“You're so wet,” he whispered against her skin as he dipped his head to her shoulder.

Constance groaned at the truth in his words and yelped as his fingers stroked across the sensitive bulb, seemingly standing to attention.

“Inside me?” she asked, surprising herself at how bold she was.

D'Artagnan complied, sliding his middle finger into her body and they shared a gasp.

“So hot,” he moaned into her shoulder. “So tight.”

Constance responded by simply shuffling slightly forwards to tilt her hips up. D'Artagnan followed the unspoken instruction by sliding his finger deeper into her, beginning to thrust slowly. He began to speed up, listening to her moan as he moved his digit inside her.

“D'Artagnan, d'Artagnan,” she panted.

The Gascon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning her back slightly to gain more access. He dipped a second finger in to join the first and began to pump into her in earnest. She moaned loudly, arching her back to offer herself up to him and felt pleasure coiling in her pelvis again.

“Touch me,” she demanded and d'Artagnan immediately withdrew his fingers, stroking her until he found the erect bud of flesh, squeezing it between his wet fingers.

She gave a twitch of her hips, unsure what she needed but the bud was throbbing and she knew, somehow, the secret to uncoiling this building pressure again was there. When d'Artagnan began to rub the nub back and forth, she reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling his face roughly down to hers.

It was with their mouths pressed together she felt a second moment of unadulterated pleasure rock through her body, whiting out her vision and making her stop breathing as it rolled through her body.

When the wave passed, both of d'Artagnan's hands were on her back, supporting her weight and she tasted blood on her tongue. When she opened her eyes, d'Artagnan's were an inch above hers and black with desire. His bottom lip was bruised and she wondered if she'd caused that in her ecstasy.

“D'Artagnan,” she said, weakly.

“You're amazing,” he murmured.

Constance beamed up at him, her body turned to jelly by the exertion. She let him scoop her up and carry her to his room, laying her gently on the bed. Pleasure still seemed to be running through her thighs when d'Artagnan returned with his discarded clothes and dropped them on the floor with his sword belt.

“I want to touch you there,” she said, pushing herself to a seated position.

D'Artagnan smiled gently at her and unlaced his braies, pushing them and his already open breeches to the floor. Constance's breath caught in her throat at the sight of his hard cock. She'd never actually seen one up close, her marital relations being conducted in the dark and with as little contact as possible.

Her hand shook a little as she reached out to touch him, surprised at the amount of veins visible along the shaft. She traced them with her fingertip and d'Artagnan seemed to shiver at her touch.

Looking up at his face, she felt emboldened to see his eyes were closed and his mouth had fallen open. She closed her hand around him and tugged on him but gentle fingers touched her wrist.

“Slowly,” he said quietly.

Constance blushed a little but d'Artagnan lifted her chin and leaned down to kiss her. She melted against his lips and was smiling when he pulled away. She followed him with her eyes as he stepped out of his pooled clothes to sit cross legged on the bed beside her.

He took her hand in his and then, to her surprise, licked a long stripe across her palm, making her giggle. His warm smile made her heart melt as he guided her hand back to his cock, now standing proudly between his legs.

“I'm not sure what I'm doing,” she admitted, flicking her eyes nervously up to his face.

“Allow me,” he murmured softly.

His broad hand covered hers and he began to move them up and down his shaft, stroking himself with her hand. Her mouth watered at the expression on his face, eyes closed in bliss, but she couldn't keep her eyes off his cock for long.

The skin seemed with move with their hands, the hardness inside feeling unyielding and solid. When moisture began to bead at the dark head of his member, Constance found herself curious to how it would taste. She wasn't entirely naïve and had heard talk of men's salt but didn't feel as repulsed at the thought as she had expected.

“Can I do it?” she asked.

D'Artagnan nodded at her, releasing her hand. Constance summoned her courage and wiped her free hand over the head of d'Artagnan, gathering that moisture in her palm before joining her other hand wrapped around his shaft.

Together, she worked them up and down, covering his entire length with each stroke. Using his breathing as a guide, she began to speed up, her own sex growing wet as his continued to issue more fluid.

It wasn't long before d'Artagnan's hips were arching off the bed and Constance felt light headed knowing she'd brought him to this state.

“I need... Let me,” d'Artagnan panted.

Constance willingly relinquished her grip on him, secretly pleased as her arms were aching with the repeated motion. His own hand on himself was a blur and when he came, it was a guttural shout. Constance was slightly shocked at the amount of fluid that issued from him in long jets, falling on his stomach and thighs.

She watched in awe as he stroked himself through it, body shaking slightly as the last of his climax faded and she said the only thing that came to mind.

“You're gorgeous,” she whispered.

D'Artagnan opened one eye and grinned that charming lopsided grin at her.

“So are you,” he said, still breathless.

She watched shyly as he leaned over to grab his shirt, dabbing the fluid from himself.

“I love you too, y'know,” Constance said, suddenly realising she hadn't said it.

“I know,” he said, smiling.

“My husband will be home soon,” she said, sadly.

This seemed to break the spell between them and d'Artagnan nodded, silently reaching for his underwear.

“I didn't mean that,” she said, awkwardly.

D'Artagnan stood to pull them on but she smiled when he leaned down to kiss her gently.

“I know,” he said, just as gently. “I just think we have some tidying to do.”

Constance laughed and stood on slightly shaky legs to rearrange her slip and layers of skirts.

They dressed in silence but kept catching each other's eye and smirking, giggling. Their actions notwithstanding, she felt like an innocent schoolgirl with the notion of love surrounding her. It was almost a physical sensation, filling her and warming her from inside out.

They had the room straightened and Constance was washing d'Artagnan's shirt by midday when a knock sounded. D'Artagnan came out from his room tying his doublet and shot her a surprised look.

Constance shrugged but smiled when d'Artagnan opened the door to reveal Athos.

“Hallo Athos,” she said brightly.

“Madame,” he said, removing his hat and bowing to her.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked, turning back to the tub.

“I would like to borrow d'Artagnan for the afternoon if I may,” he said.

Constance glanced over her shoulder and nodded. Athos was probably d'Artagnan's best friend and certainly his mentor. D'Artagnan certainly seemed to have had a good influence on Athos as well. He'd smiled more in these last few months than in all the years she'd known him.

“Of course,” she said, happily.

“I wasn't aware we had anything else to discuss,” d'Artagnan said and Constance frowned at the unfriendly tone.

“D'Artagnan,” she scolded. “If Athos needs you, of course you will go.”

“Thank you Madame but this is a genuine request. If there is something else you'd rather be doing, you of course must do that,” he said quietly.

Constance's cheeks heated as she scrubbed at d'Artagnan's shirt, well aware why she was doing so. She hoped there was something in particular d'Artagnan would rather be doing but she wasn't sure her body could cope with that again so soon.

“Are you okay?” she heard d'Artagnan ask.

“I am. I really am. I need to explain and apologise,” she heard Athos reply.

Her curiosity was piqued but Musketeer business was none of hers and she was surprised how long it took d'Artagnan to reply.

“Alright,” he said and Constance was slightly dismayed to hear how cold the normally cheerful Gascon sounded. “I might not be back tonight,” he added to her.

“Don't get into any trouble you two,” she said, looking back at them.

D'Artagnan's expression seemed pained and she worried for a moment but Athos' was clear and relaxed when he bowed and replaced his hat. That reassured her and she turned back to her washing, humming to herself as she heard them leave.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“Where are we going?” d'Artagnan asked as they walked away from Bonacieux's house.

“My quarters if that's acceptable,” Athos replied.

“No,” d'Artagnan said, stopping in the street.

“Our friends?”

“No,” d'Artagnan said again.

Athos frowned although he understood. He had a lot to make up for.

“The river?” he suggested.

After several long seconds, d'Artagnan nodded and Athos breathed a sigh of relief. They changed their direction towards the Seine. There was always a quiet spot in alleyways along the riverbank. They used them to meet informants quite regularly.

They walked in silence, d'Artagnan leading the way and when he sat on a stack of crates, Athos sat down beside him and looked at d'Artagnan, seriously. Athos cast a quick look around, making sure they were alone, before saying the most important thing first.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“I know,” d'Artagnan replied sadly.

“I'm sorry,” Athos continued.

“You always are,” d'Artagnan said.

He had been aiming for the icy derision Athos was so good at but his voice was simply tired. The words still stung, though, and Athos waited a beat before continuing.

“We both knew going into this that I'm not well versed in being vulnerable,” Athos said quietly.

D'Artagnan blew out a long breath and finally turned to look at him.

“I know that, Athos. I'm just weary of it,” d'Artagnan admitted.

“I feel I did better this time,” Athos said hesitantly.

“You do?” asked d'Artagnan and the incredulity on his face felt like a lance to the heart.

“It was Anne,” Athos said, turning away to stare at the river.

D'Artagnan was silent for a very long time beside him.

“All of it?” he asked finally.

“She found the girls and revealed their whereabouts to the Cardinal. She gave false testimony to condemn the Comtesse. She blackmailed the confession that sealed Ninon's death sentence by threatening the lives of the girls,” Athos said in a hollow voice. “She is the Cardinal's creature.”

There was a much longer silence this time and Athos fought hard to keep the guilt and shame at bay. He'd caused all of it. If Ninon had died, it would have been because of what he did to his wife years ago. He would have been responsible for the deaths of all the others if she'd killed them. Sweet, innocent, romantic Fleur. His wife would have killed her like she did Thomas because of what he did to her.

He closed his eyes against the dark black whirlpool and blew out a long breath, counting to three as he did. This wasn't about her. This was about d'Artagnan. No longer would she colour his entire life. He was here with d'Artagnan who he loved and who loved him. That was what mattered. Opening his eyes, he lifted his head and turned back to find d'Artagnan staring hard at him.

“I'm sorry, d'Artagnan,” he said again. “I am responsible for the pain she causes people but I should not let myself cause more as well.”

D'Artagnan's expression was hard to read, which was unusual for him. Athos simply stared at him, hoping against hope that d'Artagnan would forgive him.

“You came face to face with her again, she was almost responsible, twice, for the death of someone you cared about and you... you're okay?” he asked, slowly.

Athos nodded, not trusting his voice to answer.

“I'm so _proud_ of you,” d'Artagnan whispered, taking Athos' hand.

Athos squeezed it hopefully and inhaled sharply when d'Artagnan raised it to his mouth and kissed it.

“Let's go home,” d'Artagnan announced suddenly.

Athos felt as if his heart would burst and the two of them raced back to Athos' quarters, almost jogging through the streets.

They fell upon each other as soon as the door was locked and when they made love, d'Artagnan insisted on being on his back as Athos entered him.

D'Artagnan only broke their eye contact when Athos' hand brought him to a shuddering climax and the only time Athos looked away from his lover's face was when he emptied himself into d'Artagnan and had to drop his face to the tanned shoulder to stop the tears of joyous relief.

As the moon rose above Paris, Athos sleepily drew his fingers through d'Artagnan's hair and whispered to him.

“You'd never lie to me,” Athos murmured. “You're so good, so true. You deserve my trust and my honesty and my respect. I should never have kept that from you. You would never keep such a thing from me.”

He fell asleep, still murmuring quietly while the Gascon on his chest was awake for many hours, a lead weight in his stomach, Constance swimming in front of his eyes.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Athos, I need to speak to you,” d'Artagnan said, cleaning his sword in the dust.

“Right now?” Athos asked, drily.

“As soon as we're back in the city,” d'Artagnan amended, looking around the barn.

“D'Artagnan, we have more work to do,” Athos said, raising an eyebrow.

They'd followed a trail of illegal shipments out to this village and had now obtained enough information to locate the warehouse inside Paris and hopefully find enough to lead them to the person or persons responsible for the operation.

“This can't wait,” d'Artagnan said, his face serious.

Athos felt a swoop of trepidation in his stomach, his heart being prone to immediately assume the worst.

“Aramis,” he called.

It was Porthos' head that appeared around the door frame.

“He's chasing someone. Bloke was faking it and took off running when Aramis put his fuse out,” he explained.

A pistol shot sounded in the woods behind the barn.

“Never mind,” Porthos said, grinning and disappeared again.

Athos watched d'Artagnan closely as they began to search the dead men's bodies, finding nothing beyond balls and powder for their pistols. The swords and daggers were of very poor quality but Athos took them all the same. This was a village without a militia and unattended weapons could cause more problems than they'd solve.

“You rang, my lord?” Aramis asked, sauntering into the room, reloading his pistol.

“You will take care of these men and report to Tréville for us. Please find us at my rooms after at least... an hour?” Athos said, turning to d'Artagnan for confirmation.

D'Artagnan nodded and Aramis frowned, flicking his gaze between them.

“Something we should know?” Aramis asked.

“No,” Athos said. “We just need to discuss something.”

Aramis watched them for another few seconds before nodding slowly and joining Porthos where he was moving a body.

D'Artagnan watched him go but Athos' gaze had flicked immediately back to d'Artagnan and was staring intently, hundreds of questions on the tip of his tongue. He stood frozen as d'Artagnan moved quietly towards his horse.

“You look like you're in mourning,” Porthos said quietly.

Athos' eyes turned to him under his hat, having heard him approach but he didn't say anything.

“Aramis says the lad wants to talk to you. Doesn't mean a death sentence,” Porthos continued.

“Thank you, Porthos. I'm fine,” Athos said quietly.

Porthos withdrew without another word and Athos mounted his horse, quickly moving his gelding into a trot to catch up with the equally silent d'Artagnan.

 

Athos dismounted outside his quarters, having to take a second to stop his hands from shaking as he looped the horse's rein around the post. D'Artagnan copied him and, without asking, trudged up the stairs to Athos' room.

Athos entered and sat on the bed, staring expectantly at d'Artagnan.

“Say what you need,” he said, tilting his chin up bravely.

“I kissed Constance,” d'Artagnan said bluntly, sitting down in the hard wooden chair.

Athos stared blankly at him.

“I told her I loved her, we kissed and we brought each other pleasure,” d'Artagnan continued ruthlessly.

Athos felt like he was falling and although he could see d'Artagnan's lips moving, he had no idea what the man was saying.

He'd gambled everything on trusting d'Artagnan. Given him the most intimate, important parts of himself, safe in the knowledge that d'Artagnan would protect his heart. It was everything. It was the foundation of everything they'd built. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered endearment had been because he could trust d'Artagnan.

 

D'Artagnan's face swam into focus and Athos realised he'd been staring unfocused into space and hadn't noticed the Gascon standing up and coming to his knees.

“Athos,” d'Artagnan whispered, tears in his eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“You didn't tell me,” Athos whispered back.

“I'm so sorry,” d'Artagnan repeated. “I love you. I didn't know if we were still... It was when... You were with Ninon and I didn't think...”

Athos could feel his entire body trembling and he wanted more than anything to leave the room, find a case of wine and drink himself into oblivion.

“Darling,” he murmured. “Speak to me.”

Athos opened his mouth but couldn't stop his head spinning enough to form words. Hands rested on either side of his face. When he finally managed to speak, his voice came out rough and hoarse.

“Didn't tell me,” he croaked.

“It just happened,” whispered d'Artagnan. “I wasn't in my right mind. I thought we weren't together and I told Constance I loved her by accident and she kissed me.”

“By accident,” Athos repeated with a bark of nearly hysterical laughter.

“I just mean I didn't intend to,” d'Artagnan said.

Athos slowly pulled d'Artagnan's hands away from his face.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“After everything that happened with her I didn't want to return you to... You were so... happy,” he said, sadly.

There was a long moment of silence between them and d'Artagnan felt a sudden plummeting in his stomach as something seemed to close in his lover's eyes.

“Falsely happy,” Athos said, his voice cool.

“I never lied to you,” d'Artagnan said carefully but immediately regretted the words when the grey eyes watching him went suddenly hard.

“You did not tell me the whole truth,” Athos hissed. “You didn't tell me any of it. You didn't stop at kissing her. It was not a case of getting caught up in the moment but then thinking of me made you stop.”

“I did think of you,” d'Artagnan protested.

“And continued,” Athos pointed out, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Not like that,” argued d'Artagnan, his eyes burning.

“Then how was it?” Athos asked, eyes narrowed. “You considered me and thought 'he'll never know so I can do as I wish' or 'Athos is so upset at seeing the wife he both loved and killed that he won't care' or was this simply vengeance for my kissing the Comtesse de Larroque? I had cast the first stone at kissing her and telling you so you thought you could kiss Constance and then _bring each other pleasure_ and I, being so irreparably damaged, would simply accept it?”

Tears brimmed in d'Artagnan's eyes and he had to look away, casting them down to Athos' knees.

“I would never seek to hurt you in such a way,” he said quietly. “I never intended to keep it from you. I didn't know it was your wife. I didn't know **what** was wrong. I thought you had shut me out and then when I found out what had upset you I had already... and then when... When you told me... You were so strong and I was so proud... We were... together and...” d'Artagnan trailed off as the tears fell, speech getting beyond him as the lump hardened in his throat.

Athos gazed at d'Artagnan's anguished face, heard the hitch in his voice, and his anger vanished. He stared in silence for a few more seconds, watching d'Artagnan chew his lip nervously.

“I should never have shut you out. You're right. I never told you what was wrong,” he said quietly.

“But I knew **something** was, wrong” d'Artagnan said miserably. “Badly wrong.”

Athos' hand twitched in his lap, yearning to touch d'Artagnan but he stayed it, knowing he had to be honest.

“I don't just trust you not to lie to me, d'Artagnan. I don't... I have not the skill to protect my heart and you hold it in your hands,” Athos said, his voice shaking. “I trust you to either keep it safe or... or to give it back.”

At this d'Artagnan reared back, horrified.

“No! Athos, no! I can't... I don't want... your heart is mine and mine is yours,” he said, increasingly agitated.

“Shh, shh,” Athos said, finally reaching for him and drawing the younger man close. He pressed a kiss to d'Artagnan's forehead. “Constance has your heart, too.”

D'Artagnan nodded, a tear finally trickling from his eye and meeting the leather of Athos' doublet.

“She is married and yet has room in her heart and presumably her bed for you,” Athos said softly. “I would say you have room for us both as well. I just... I can't be lied to, d'Artagnan. I can't. If you swear to me now that you will keep me fully informed, you must mean it.”

“I do! I do mean it. I swear it,” d'Artagnan cried.

He flung himself forwards to kiss Athos but gasped when Athos flinched away from him.

“I love you,” said Athos quietly. “I will just need some time after this.”

D'Artagnan looked as if he'd been slapped but he swallowed hard, nodding slowly. He rocked back onto his heels and stared down at his hands. It took all Athos had not to go to him but he had to protect himself. If he gave himself to d'Artagnan now it would not be an act of love, it would be desperation. He could already feel the familiar sensation clawing at his chest, choking him, whispering in his ear that this pain was what he deserved. He screwed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, once, twice, a third time until the noise faded.

When he opened them again, d'Artagnan was watching him, those big beautiful eyes filled with sorrow and guilt.

“I'm so sorry,” d'Artagnan said again.

Athos exhaled slowly and gathered his courage.

“I'm not blameless in pushing you away but I'm not going to pretend everything is fine. I'm hurt, d'Artagnan. I am shaken badly by what my wife has done and what you have done to me. I cannot bury that for you,” he said carefully.

D'Artagnan nodded, not moving from where he knelt on the bed beside Athos.

“Was there anything else you needed to say?” Athos asked, sharper than intended and d'Artagnan winced.

“How do you see this working?” he asked hesitantly. “Me with you and Constance, Constance with me and Bonacieux, you with me and them?”

“You should know by now there is no 'me and them' of real import. As yet we haven't had a situation where I have needed them since you and I became... you and I,” Athos chided, knowing d'Artagnan was referring to his past with Aramis and Porthos. “Why do you think Constance would change that 'you and I'?”

“Well because... because barring missions outside of the city, we have a steady pattern. She and I would not,” d'Artagnan answered, shifting to sit cross legged, his hands clasped nervously in his lap. “Would you and I have to adjust our routine for her or would I-”

Athos cut him off by using Aramis' trick of simply raising one hand.

“I have known Constance longer than you. Might I suggest speaking to her about how she envisages your liaison working before making plans?”

“I don't want to let her down or upset her,” d'Artagnan said quietly.

“I advise you not to make plans for her, either. She will not take kindly to it.”

At this, d'Artagnan smiled despite his lingering sadness. That rang true. He lifted his head as Athos rose smoothly and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Let's find this warehouse,” Athos said, gently.

  
  


  
  


  
  


It was a quick operation to find and clear the warehouse of guards but the political manoeuvring and arguments went late into the night with Captain Tréville finally sending his men home less than an hour before dawn. Aramis and Porthos' home was closest and the four of them poured themselves into bed just as the streets below began to ring with the sounds of the day starting.

Despite the lateness of the hour, a familiar grunt sounded through the wall into the room Athos and d'Artagnan shared.

“Do they even feel shame?” d'Artagnan asked, pulling his shirt off and dropping it onto the floor.

“Not that I have noticed,” Athos mused.

He stripped to just his braies and slid into the single bed he shared with d'Artagnan when staying here. When he saw d'Artagnan hesitate, he felt a flash of gratitude for the consideration and of guilt for the uncertainty.

“Come sleep, puppy,” he said gently.

“If you need... time,” d'Artagnan said, unsure.

“I just want to sleep, darling. I'm too tired for any more than holding you,” Athos said quietly.

Despite his words, Athos could feel his body tighten as d'Artagnan lay beside him. There were several long minutes of silence until he heard a small stutter in the Gascon's breathing that meant he was fighting back tears again.

“I know,” Athos answered. It took all of his willpower not to immediately comfort the man in his arms but when he heard the breath stutter again, Athos couldn't fight it.

“Shh,” he hummed, stroking d'Artagnan's bare shoulder. “I'm still here. It's not so bad.”

“I hurt you,” d'Artagnan whispered.

Athos' stomach twisted painfully, remembering the way it had felt. Like the ground had fallen away and he was lost. Even here, with d'Artagnan's firm, muscled body in his arms, Athos was powerless to stop the vision of Thomas, dead on the floor, rising behind his eyes.

Same feeling.

“It's okay,” Athos heard himself say before he knew it.

Anne's face swam before his eyes. The unreadable expression on her face in the abbey. The same one she wore when she was taken to the tree.

“I love you,” d'Artagnan said, audibly relieved.

“I love you too,” Athos answered, automatically.

He used to admire the way she could wipe her face blank, the way she gave nothing away when speaking to others but that facade fell away when they were alone. It never had, though. Never. Strip away her layers of pretence only to find more pretence.

The way she had cried in that room, flung herself at him. The shrill note of panic in her voice. Had she really faked it all? Faked the way she loved him? She had been so cold and calm at the tree. Was that another mask or, more likely, Athos had broken her. He betrayed her. Didn't believe his own wife. Sentenced her to death. Spoke the words that killed her. No wonder she had snapped. Athos had spent five years learning how to feel again. Was it any wonder she had appeared unable to do so when Remy bound her hands?

Remy.

She wasn't that broken, then. She'd kept enough wits about her to seduce him. Was still cunning and heartless enough to kill him years later to keep a secret she then revealed anyway. Remy never would have been a target for either her murderous intentions or selfish manipulations if not for Athos.

Whatever she was up to now, was also on Athos. Whatever foul schemes she was involved in with the Cardinal. All of it. Athos' responsibility.

A sharp pain in his fingers shook him from his reverie and he blinked several times. D'Artagnan had twisted on the bed to look at him and there was fear in his eyes. Athos glanced in confusion at his hand to see d'Artagnan had bent his fingers back painfully hard.

“You back?” d'Artagnan asked, nervously.

“I... I was... I...”

“Shh,” d'Artagnan said quietly, letting go of Athos' hand and turning over entirely. “It's okay. Shh.”

Athos realised he had been lost in his own head and he shook himself.

“I just... she's back,” he said.

D'Artagnan leaned up to kiss Athos lightly and smiled when light seemed to flicker back on in his eyes.

“You aren't alone this time,” d'Artagnan said. “You're wiser, smarter and you have...” he trailed off.

“Have brothers?” Athos asked, his voice cracking as the vision of Thomas' broken body swam in front of his eyes again.

“Friends,” d'Artagnan finished, lamely.

Athos tightened his arms around d'Artagnan for a moment, squeezing him gently.

Neither man spoke again and when Athos fell asleep, it was short lived, the nightmares returning for the first time in months.

On the third time of waking, paralysed by terror, he stared at the sleeping Gascon in his arms. There was a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth now that he'd been told their breach had been healed. D'Artagnan had been right when he said Athos kept pushing him away. He had to stop doing it. This wasn't any of D'Artagnan's doing. In fact, the man helped. He had to be better.

Athos resigned himself to a restless night and just watched d'Artagnan sleep.

 


	8. Chapter 8

It was three days before d'Artagnan returned to the Bonacieux house. Aside from needing time with Athos, they had all ended up getting sent out of the city on a ridiculous errand for the Cardinal the purpose of which seemed to simply be to wind Tréville up.

“Hello stranger,” Constance said, over her shoulder from where she stood at the counter.

D'Artagnan gave her a tired smile and dropped into a chair at the table. He'd been worried his disappearing so soon after they'd been intimate would worry her but it seemed she had more sense. The room was hot and d'Artagnan could see the embers burning low in the clay oven by the door. It was comfortable and homely.

“Miss me?” he asked.

Constance turned around properly, hands covered in flour and scowled at him, amusement written across her features.

“Of course, you idiot. After that afternoon? I miss you even more when you're away,” she said, her face breaking into an easy smile.

“You don't regret it?” he asked, unable to stop himself smiling at her.

“Do you?” she asked, smile faltering a little.

“Not for a second. It's felt like I've had to stop myself doing that since I met you,” d'Artagnan answered.

Constance took the few steps needed to get closer to him and leaned down to kiss him, holding her hands well out of the way to avoid covering him in flour.

“You didn't stop yourself,” Constance reminded him.

They grinned as the memory of their meeting immediately flashed between them and Constance returned to the bread she was kneading.

D'Artagnan watched her back for a few minutes, silently enjoying the rhythmic way her arms moved. He remembered Athos telling him several times to talk to Constance and decided no time was like the present.

“You've known Athos longer than I, haven't you?” he asked.

“Yes. My husband has supplied the Musketeers ever since I've known him. Athos joined a few years ago and was... I was... We connected,” Constance said, her arms pausing for a few seconds before continuing.

D'Artagnan could see the tension in her shoulders and frowned slightly.

“I know when he first joined he was... Very reserved. Quite... unhappy,” he said carefully.

“He told you?” she asked warily.

“About how he joined, yes. Aramis and Porthos talked about it as well,” d'Artagnan answered softly.

There were several minutes of comfortable where d'Artagnan simply watched her arms work.

“I was newly married and still... adjusting," she said finally. "Life wasn't what I thought it would be and I lost...”

Constance trailed off and sighed. D'Artagnan debated going to her but before he could make his mind up, she sighed again and continued.

“I lost myself a bit. I was quiet and frightened and felt... I felt like property, being carted around, made to carry things, told to stay quiet,” she said. She flashed a grin over her shoulder when d'Artagnan gave a small huff of laughter. “Hard to believe?”

“Very,” d'Artagnan answered, grinning back.

“I used to just stand by myself while my husband was with the Captain and Athos tended to do the same. We never spoke much, he just stood with me so I wasn't alone. Gradually we started to talk a bit. Just small talk about the weather and fabrics I happened to be carrying, you understand, but he'd always leave when my husband returned,” Constance said, turning back to the bench. The tension leaked out of her shoulders and d'Artagnan smiled, watching her arms pick up their tempo again. “I had a friend. Not a close one, mind. Just a relationship of my own. Gave me the confidence to start making my own friends again. Proof I didn't revolve around Bonacieux, I was still me enough to make my own life.”

D'Artagnan smiled and felt as though he could see it. Two people, ripped from the lives they'd known, finding a quiet kind of peace in each other. Small moments together when everything else was overwhelming and noisy.

“Of course then Lancelot and Guinevere popped up for him and I made my own friends here and among the merchants but he's always been kind to me,” Constance continued.

“Aramis and... You know about them?” d'Artagnan asked, surprised.

“I'm not a fool,,” Constance said, waving a flour covered hand in the air.

“And you...” d'Artagnan trailed off, swallowing hard.

“Love is love,” she said, shrugging. “I don't think for a second what those two idiots have is anything less.”

“It doesn't... uh... I mean... What if...”

Constance turned and raised her eyebrows at d'Artagnan, the ball of dough in her hands.

“Do you think someone can love more than one person?” he asked in a rush.

“Aramis seems to manage,” she answered, amused.

“True,” d'Artagnan mumbled, swallowing again.

Constance watched him, a thoughtful look on her face, and d'Artagnan could feel his cheeks growing warm as she stared. He heard Athos' voice in his head, telling him to be honest.

“Do you love Athos like that?” she asked bluntly.

D'Artagnan opened and closed his mouth several times but couldn't seem to make his voice work.

“Are you asking if it's possible for you to love us both and whether I'm okay with that?”

D'Artagnan just stared, open-mouthed, at her.

“Yes. Perfectly,” she said pleasantly, shrugging again and turning back to the counter.

By the time d'Artagnan had managed to close his mouth and start to get his voice working again, Constance had finished shaping her loaf and was wiping her hands on a towel.

“Make yourself useful,” Constance said, nodding at the oven.

D'Artagnan felt as if he had too many limbs somehow when he crouched to scrape away the ashes and embers. He was confused, unbalanced and nearly leapt out of his skin when Constance's small hand landed on his shoulder.

“What's wrong?”

“I... uh... you...” d'Artagnan tried to say. He realised his hands were shaking and when Constance noticed, he found himself being gently pushed out of the way.

He watched, still dumbstruck as Constance completed the task, collected her bread and slid it, on its pan, into the oven and then finally turned expectantly to him.

“How did you expect this conversation to go, you plum? Sit down,” she said, shaking her head affectionately.

D'Artagnan finally chuckled and sat down, shaking himself a little.

“Sorry... you're just... I wasn't expecting that,” he said.

His arms came up to circle her when she sat sideways on his lap, one arm around his neck.

“What were you expecting?”

“I'm not sure... I suppose I was braced for you being shocked,” d'Artagnan mused, smiling up at her.

“And instead it's bold, brave d'Artagnan who is floundering,” she said, dipping her head to kiss him lightly.

“You are a remarkable woman,” d'Artagnan answered, kissing her again.

He tightened the arm around her back slightly, raising the other to stroke her face. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, he stroked his thumb across her cheekbone.

“If you can see past my husband, I can learn to love your... Athos,” Constance said, leaning into his hand. “He's part of you, right?”

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said, earnestly. “He is. He means more to me than... He's a brother, my best friend, my mentor... I... love him. And I love you.”

“Well... Are you sure the two of you can make room for me?” Constance asked, leaning down and kissing him again. She lingered and d'Artagnan smiled against her lips.

“Athos says you don't take anything away from him, that my heart just has extra room for you both,” he said softly, hand still pressed again her face.

“I was talking more literally,” Constance replied, leaning her body against his.

“Ah... Well you don't take up too much room,” he murmured, sliding his hand into her hair.

“Do I at least get you alone some of the time?” she asked, leaning her head back against his long fingers.

D'Artagnan leaned forwards, nuzzling into the long exposed column of her neck, letting his tongue map the ridges of her throat.

“D'Artagnan,” she panted.

“Your question implies...” he began, trailing off and nuzzling against her pulse.

“It does, doesn't it?” Constance murmured, tilting her head forwards and gazing down at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.

D'Artagnan surged up to kiss her, his hand closing around the red curls and the arm around her waist tightening. She gave a surprised squeal of delight before sinking into the kiss.

Rising, d'Artagnan dropped her gently to her feet. Her arms came up around his neck and he pulled her close, keeping his arm around her waist and pressing their bodies together.

He could feel her hands playing with the dark hair at the back of his head and gave a soft moan. He reciprocated, the hand in her hair tightening slightly as his thumb rubbed across line of bone.

A small moan from her had him unable to resist and he turned them slightly and took half a step until the back of her legs hit the table. They shared a small laugh and d'Artagnan released her to help her hop up onto the wood.

Stepping between her parted legs, d'Artagnan paused, cradling her face in his two hands. His soft brown eyes flickered in amazement over her face. How loving she was, how funny she was, how strong she was, how accepting she was, how generous, how adventurous...

“What?” she asked in a small voice.

“You astound me,” he answered quietly. One of her hands came up to lay over his against her cheek and he smiled, seeing her eyes flick down in embarrassment. “I am the luckiest man in the world to have you return my affection.”

“Kiss me,” she said, shyly.

D'Artagnan complied instantly, lowering his head to hers and kissing her sweetly.

This was a slow kiss, none of their hurried, frenetic passion of last time. Their lips parted gradually, moving against each other experimentally. Together they learned their rhythm, neither of them liking the kiss too light. He liked to touch her face, feeling the curve of her lips as she smiled throughout the kiss, even when it became deeper.

Constance's hands were pressed against his back, holding him close, and d'Artagnan felt as though his heart was beating hard enough for her to feel. Her soft breasts were brushing against his chest, maddeningly close, but he couldn't find the strength to stop kissing her long enough to pay attention to them.

When finally his groin ached enough to demand they move on, he lifted his head and gazed down at her. Her cheeks were pink and the skin on her breastbone was flushed with arousal. Some of the hair pulled back around her temples had come loose and was curling around her eyes. He tucked it back behind her ear and they shared a small smile.

“Oh God!” she yelped suddenly, pushing him away.

D'Artagnan whirled to the door, hand immediately going to his pistol, fearing Bonacieux's arrival. Eyes flickering, he was aware of Constance throwing herself to the ground behind him. Turning slightly he saw where she was kneeling and finally registered the acrid burning smell.

“The bread!” she shrieked.

D'Artagnan dropped back into his chair and laughed.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


“She told me you helped her,” d'Artagnan murmured sleepily, fingers toying with the hair on Athos' chest.

“She helped me, too,” Athos answered, hand stroking the smooth skin between d'Artagnan's shoulder blades.

They were laying together in bed, the hour well past midnight as they'd both been on guard duty. It was, however, the first opportunity the two of them had alone to discuss d'Artagnan's conversation with Constance.

“I can just imagine the two of you... so reserved and alone... trying to make new lives,” d'Artagnan mused.

“Mhmm,” Athos agreed, eyes closed.

“She had guessed that you and I are together,” d'Artagnan continued.

“I would have been surprised if she hadn't,” Athos answered, without opening his eyes.

“She accepts it without hesitation,” d'Artagnan said.

“You're hinting at something,” Athos said quietly, lips twitching into a smile under his beard.

“She... suggested that... the three of us...” d'Artagnan trailed off, hiding his face against Athos' chest.

“Did she now?” asked Athos, surprised for the first time. “She's even less orthodox than I thought.”

Athos could feel d'Artagnan's face pressed into his skin and smiled at his shyness.

“Do you think it could work?” Athos asked slowly.

D'Artagnan lifted his head and beamed at Athos.

“If you're up for it!” he said excitedly.

“Slowly and carefully, yes,” Athos said, smiling at d'Artagnan. “Honesty is a priority and I'll need to talk to her myself but yes.”

“All of it? I mean... the... suggestion... the... uh...”

“The three of us? Yes,” Athos said calmly.

“How would that... How would it work?” d'Artagnan asked shyly.

“Are you asking for a diagram?” Athos asked, eyebrow raised.

“It seems too many legs,” d'Artagnan replied, grinning.

Athos smirked and gently tugged d'Artagnan until he was laying face down on top of Athos' body, legs either side of Athos'.

“I'll admit the only time I've had more than two sets of limbs to worry about I have had someone else leading the charge, as it were,” he said quietly, hands rubbing d'Artagnan's thighs. They were both still wearing their under garments but the thin layers of material did little to hide the effect the closeness had.

“Perhaps you can do that for us?” d'Artagnan suggested, sitting up and shifting his weight until their groins pressed against one another.

Athos' eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he lifted his hands and began to undo the laces on d'Artagnan's braies.

“The problem is that Aramis does so because he protects and controls Porthos. I don't feel that power exchange would be between us,” Athos mused, unlacing his own linens as well.

“I agree,” d'Artagnan said, stroking his hands across Athos' hair covered chest.

“I think then,” Athos said quietly, wrapping his two hands around both of their members, pressing them together in his rough hands. “It will be best if we simply _feel_ our way.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


The following evening d'Artagnan stayed at Bonacieux's house and it was agreed the following afternoon he would bring Athos home with him to talk to Constance. In the morning, d'Artagnan woke suddenly, his insides already humming with excitement. He dressed in record time and was out the door just after dawn, waving a quick goodbye to Constance, a sly wink shared between them over her husband's head.

The morning dragged painfully slow, guard duty doing nothing to distract him from the upcoming afternoon. This was to be the first conversation between Athos and Constance about the three of them developing a sexual relationship. He'd been intimate with both separately, though not fully with Constance. He'd refused to go any further without Athos' consent and Constance was hesitant to do anything to make her old friend uncomfortable.

“Calm, puppy,” Athos murmured as he passed d'Artagnan at the gate.

Aramis and Porthos grinned over Athos' head, taking pleasure in seeing their youngest friend paying his dues.

“Can't,” he hissed back.

“Yes you can. You will,” Athos said, pausing slightly. He lifted his chin and caught d'Artagnan in his gaze.

“Yes,” d'Artagnan said, more calmly. He inhaled slowly, pulling himself up to his considerable height, and steadied his body again.

“Better,” Athos said, approvingly.

D'Artagnan nodded at him and his friends passed through into the yard. Only a few more hours.

  
  


  
  


  
  


When finally his watch was ended, Athos took d'Artagnan by the elbow and walked them through the streets.

“Not having supper with us?” Porthos asked, watching them go.

“They've been strangely on edge today,” Aramis mused, tilting his head.

“Athos alright?” Porthos asked, concerned.

“Oh I think so,” Aramis said, brightly, linking his arm in Porthos'. “I didn't mean it like that.. Just that they'd both seemed nervous about something.”

“Maybe they're trying something new,” Porthos teased.

“Like your something new?” Aramis asked, slyly.

Porthos laughed loudly, drawing glances from people as they passed through the streets.

“I don't 'fink they're as inventive as you,” he answered.

“Inventive? I like that,” Aramis mused.

“Thought you'd like it better than cruel,” Porthos chuckled.

“I don't mind being cruel,” his lover answered.

“I know.”

The two walked the short distance to their home, stopping to chat to their landlord, whom they rarely saw as he was a travelling merchant. Once safely inside their own apartment, Porthos drew Aramis into his arms, the slimmer man's back to Porthos' broad chest.

“I didn't think he was due back,” Porthos grumbled, leaning his chin on Aramis' shoulder.

“Nor I,” mused Aramis, leaning back into the embrace while Porthos' hands began their familiar ritual of undoing the belts his owner wore. “It has rather dampened my plans.”

“Your inventive plans?” Porthos asked, his voice a low rumble in Aramis' ear.

“Yes,” pouted Aramis, obligingly stepping forwards to allow Porthos to hang the two belts and his weapons up on the nearby stand. He immediately let himself sink back into the embrace when the familiar body returned at his back.

“Should I be relieved?” Porthos asked. His voice naturally softening as it always did during this act.

“Mmm... Poor choice of words,” Aramis hummed quietly as Porthos unwound the long Musketeer blue sash from Aramis' hips. “My plan did actually involve some relief for you.”

Porthos groaned softly as he stepped away to lovingly hang the material up. He returned again and wound his arms back around Aramis to begin undoing the fastenings on his long coat but gave no other answer.

Aramis' voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke into the silence.

“I was going to open you with my fingers, put the wood inside you, keep you open, shaped to my fingers. Keep you aching, filled, invaded... Then I was going to have you fuck me, Porthos. Fuck me on my knees. Fuck me hard. Make **me** ache, shape **me** to you.”

Porthos' breath was coming in short pants in Aramis' ear, the vulgarity adding to the picture being painted. The familiar movements of his hands on the many wooden toggles were becoming shaky.

“Then, when I was **sure** I'd had enough, I was going to feel you release inside me. I was going to have you reach your climax with your cock inside me but even then, with the wood inside you, knowing that even when you fuck me, I was inside you,” Aramis purred.

Porthos' face was just pressed against Aramis' neck now, his hands utterly still.

“Now, I think I will simply insert the peg and you can have a quiet evening of contemplation,” Aramis said, the low purr falling away from his voice yet it remained captivating.

There was a shaky inhalation of breath from Porthos and a light kiss to the back of Aramis' neck.

“Thank you Sire,” Porthos said earnestly.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Less than half an hour later, Porthos was sat on the rug beside Aramis' chair clad only his braies and a strip of cloth acting as a blindfold. Aramis was sat in his armchair reading, still fully dressed but for his outerwear and his boots.

Porthos shifted minutely at his side but Aramis didn't look away from his book. When he first sat Porthos down after getting the thick plug inserted, Porthos had reported the extra pressure made it hurt a little more but Aramis knew it wasn't unbearable. He flicked his eyes up to the clock, which was one reason for the blindfold.

His second, more important reason for it, was what he called relationship maintenance. In recent months Porthos had, after some traumatic captivity, developed a fear of the blindfold. While it was easier to make Porthos comfortable with it when in direct contact with him, he wanted Porthos back to a place where Aramis' desires would make him accept things without impact from past experiences.

Another fifteen minutes had passed before Aramis smiled, hearing the slightly shaky exhalation that meant Porthos had begun to surrender, to accept the position and let go. However high their sex drives were, there was more to their relationship than that. When Porthos had said thank you earlier, Aramis had no doubt the gratitude was genuine. The opportunities to simply belong to Aramis were rare and precious. To tune out the entire world and simply wait for Aramis was a honest pleasure.

It was, therefore, with no small amount of annoyance that he rose when footsteps were audible on the stairs a few minutes later.

He looked quickly at Porthos but the calm spell had already been broken. A deep frown creased his brow, his head turned to the door.

“I'm so sorry, mi vida,” Aramis murmured, quickly unwrapping the loose fabric from around his eyes.

“What should I do?” Porthos asked, looking up anxiously.

The knock on the door was lighter than Aramis was expecting and it was Constance's voice that called his name through the door.

“Your choice, mi vida,” Aramis said quickly and quietly. “You can kneel in your spot in the bedroom and wait for me or stay here but somewhat undressed.”

Porthos considered for a second.

“I'd like to stay with you but may I put my shirt on?” he asked hopefully.

Aramis smiled tenderly at him and, with his long legs, reached the dining table where Porthos' shirt still lay. He tossed it to Porthos just as Constance knocked again.

“I can hear you moving around in there,” she called impatiently. “It's an emergency! It's Athos.”

The two Musketeers exchanged a worried glance before Aramis pulled the door open.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and d'Artagnan meet with Constance to discuss the possibility of a relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at the same time as the previous chapter

**~~One hour earlier~~**

  
  


“Are you sure you want to do this?” Athos asked seriously.

He'd taken d'Artagnan by the arm and stopped as they approached Bonacieux's house.

“Aren't you?” the Gascon asked, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I am,” Athos answered slowly. “There's no rush, though. You seem a little frantic.”

“Excited,” corrected d'Artagnan, his face breaking into an easy smile. “Eager.”

“I... I would...” Athos looked over D'Artagnan's shoulder as he struggled to phrase what he wanted to say. He was still struggling against the visions of Anne. The visions of Thomas, of Remy, the bodies she had lain at his feet. Visions of Ninon, of the countless innocent girls who nearly joined the count he was responsible for. Athos knew, deep in his heart, he wasn't really in the best place for this and his faith in d'Artagnan had been badly shaken. His eyes were drawn back to his lover's tanned face, full of concern, of love... of innocence.

Athos wanted to stop this. To protect his heart. To have a chance to bring his defences back up. D'Artagnan had betrayed him, had lied, had done the very thing Athos had asked repeatedly that he not do. His heart felt fragile, thin. Like a graze that is too sensitive to touch and ready to bleed again at the slightest movement.

“You need to keep calm,” Athos said finally.

He'd made the decision in bed when d'Artagnan had lay in his arms and cried. He wasn't strong enough then to admit his pain and it wasn't fair to take back that forgiveness now, not when d'Artagnan was so radiant.

“I'll try,” the Gascon beamed.

Athos managed to make his lips turn up in the vague shape of a smile but quickly had to lower his head, letting the brim of his hat hide his expression. It worked, however, as d'Artagnan turned towards the house. Athos' hand fell from where it had caught the slim arm to hang limply at his side.

  
  


  
  


Constance was a bundle of nerves as she bustled around the house, trying to keep her hands busy. She'd baked more than enough bread to feed her own household and her neighbours either side twice over. She'd laundered everything in the house and tidied her husband's workroom so thoroughly that she was sure he'd be cross when he returned to Paris. She'd even swept out and cleaned the oven, her fingers tingling a little as she'd not waited long enough and the ashes had still been hot.

She was scrubbing the table for the third time when two heavy sets of footsteps could be heard with the tell tale jangling of swords and belts, announcing the men's arrival.

“Constance,” said d'Artagnan warmly, the smile evident in his voice even before she turned to see his tall frame in the doorway.

She felt herself blushing when she looked up at him and it was simply too much to look Athos in the eye. She nervously toyed with the stiff brush in her hands.

“Athos,” she said, timidly.

“Constance,” he replied quietly, his voice its familiar reassuringly sure and calm cadence.

At this she managed to lift her eyes to him and she smiled, seeing him toying subtly with his hat in his hands. This mirror of her own nervous tic relaxed something inside her and she smiled more naturally at them both.

“Well sit down,” she said, gesturing at the table.

Turning away to get them wine, she heard the scrape of chairs on the stone floor. She brought two bottles and three cups to the table, taking her seat at the head of the table. In the silence, she slid two cups and one bottle to her left, where d'Artagnan was seated, and poured herself a cup. D'Artagnan had slid the third cup and second bottle to where Athos sat so Constance poured d'Artagnan's cup as well.

All three of them took an automatic mouthful, exchanged quick glances and the silence stretched on. D'Artagnan laughed easily and Constance couldn't help but chuckle as well.

“Well this isn't awkward,” she said, looking between them, a grin on her face.

The tension fell a couple of notches and Athos took another large mouthful of wine before speaking.

“I think we all have a vague idea of why we're here,” he said and Constance nodded. Though her eyes were fixed on the shaggy Musketeer, she could sense d'Artagnan nodding beside her. “I also think I am right in saying this is uncharted territory for us all.”

Constance nodded again and could see an uncharacteristic uncertainty in Athos' normally steady gaze. She couldn't blame him, since she was also feeling quite lost.

“I would like us all to state clearly and unambiguously what we'd each like out of any relationship we're building,” Athos said quietly.

Constance felt her mouth go dry and she knew she was blushing again.

“D'Artagnan,” she prompted, her voice hoarse.

“I love you both,” he said promptly. “I want to share my life with both of you.”

“Constance?” asked Athos, draining his cup of wine. She took another nervous sip of hers before answering.

“I love you, d'Artagnan. I want to share my life with you as well but I'm married so I'm not entirely free to do that.” Her eyes watched Athos as he refilled his cup while she tried to phrase what she wanted. “But I know you love Athos just as much as you do me and I don't want to stand in the way of that. You're my oldest friend, Athos,” she continued nervously, watching him take another mouthful of wine. “You've been there for me since I first came to Paris and I trust you with my life. I'd be more than happy to welcome you into my heart.”

Constance glanced at d'Artagnan who beamed back at her. They both turned back to Athos who was looking intently into his empty cup. Glancing back at d'Artagnan, she relaxed when he didn't seem at all concerned. This reassurance didn't stop her beginning to fiddle with her skirts as Athos bought himself more time by pouring another cup of wine.

“I love d'Artagnan very much,” Athos said finally, without looking up. “I have the utmost respect and affection for you, Constance. I... I know this will make the man I love happy and the... opportunity to get close to you is one I find very intriguing.”

Constance let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and could feel herself smiling again. A natural silence fell over them following Athos' words and it seemed they were waiting for him, who seemed the natural leader in this situation, to speak again. D'Artagnan had also warned her that Athos sometimes needed longer to open up so she simply watched him patiently. His eyes finally flicked up from his cup to look between her and d'Artagnan. A small crease appeared between his eyes but before she begin to work out what it meant, he'd looked back down and wiped his expression blank.

“D'Artagnan and I had begun a routine of spending time together but he pointed out you might not be able to plan that far ahead,” Athos said, still refusing to look back up.

“My husband has begun spending more time away from home in search of more lucrative contracts but they aren't all that predictable,” Constance interjected quickly.

Athos looked up at her, appearing startled that she'd spoken. She felt a flash of concern but he quickly seemed to rally, taking another mouthful of wine.

“Similarly, we have found this planned routine is not as achievable as we had thought between guard duties, time out of the city and the nights we end up staying with our brothers,” Athos continued. “I don't, however, feel living together would suit me.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “With anyone.”

“You need your own space,” Constance said gently.

Athos flicked his gaze up to her and nodded once.

“Well d'Artagnan still officially lives here and you are welcome at any time,” Constance said. Athos stared back down at his cup so Constance continued briskly, trying to get the boring logistic discussions out of the way. “I think we'll have to play a little by ear. When my husband is away, you can both stay here. When he's here, d'Artagnan can stay wherever is more convenient but if you want some time alone, Athos, you always have your own home,” she said.

Athos nodded without looking up.

“But please know you're welcome at all times,” she added, frowning slightly when Athos poured himself another cup without speaking. “I would like you and I to get to know each other. I don't just want a tug of war with d'Artagnan where we share him at certain times. I want you and I to... to... be part of each other as well.”

“So nights that Bonacieux's away...” d'Artagnan said suggestively, speaking for the first time since he'd told them he loved them both.

Constance felt herself blush and playfully swatted his arm.

“Yes... those night you're both welcome and invited here,” she answered shyly.

“In your home?” asked d'Artagnan playfully.

“Yes,” she said, her face feeling as though it must be bright red by now.

“Your kitchen?”

“Yes,” she giggled.

“Anywhere else?”

Constance swatted his arm again and he laughed, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to the palm. She smiled softly at the gesture.

“And my bed,” she said quietly. She turned to Athos who was watching them intensely. “You're both welcome in my bed. **Both.** ”

“That's... generous of you,” Athos said slowly.

“It's not exactly a sacrifice, Athos,” she said shyly. “You're incredibly handsome, you know.”

Athos inclined his head in gratitude but Constance felt doubt flicker in her stomach. Was Athos only agreeing to this for d'Artagnan? Did he actually want her at all?

“I have not... I haven't been intimate with a woman since my wife,” Athos announced suddenly.

Constance's eyes went wide. She'd known Athos since he came to Paris but had no idea he'd been married. A sudden wave of realisation hit her. This must be why he'd bee so traumatised on arrival in Paris. She must have died. Looking at d'Artagnan, she could see the same shock in his eyes

“Athos,” d'Artagnan said gently. “You don't have to talk about her.”

So he had known, Constance thought. It was just a secret. D'Artagnan and Athos were staring at each other, the Gascon's expression full of concern, the Musketeer's unreadable, almost... was that fear?

“You're right, Athos said abruptly, his face smoothing out again. “You need not be burdened with that knowledge.”

Moving on pure instinct, Constance rose and stepped around d'Artagnan to crouch on the floor beside Athos' chair. She reached up and unwound one hand from the death grip on the wine cup to hold it between both of hers.

“I'm so honoured you told me that,” she said quietly, blue eyes peering calmly up into grey ones. “If you want, need or simply fancy talking about your wife, we absolutely will. I will. I will always be here for you,” she continued. “But you know, have known for years, I will never push.”

She held perfectly still while Athos seemed to study her, eyes roaming her face and seeming to focus on their hands, joined beside his thigh. She heard d'Artagnan's chair push back from the table and he crouched beside her, his broad hand resting over their joined ones.

“Athos,” he said softly.

Constance watched the pale eyes flick for a second to d'Artagnan's face, down to their hands and then up to Constance's face.

“Athos,” said d'Artagnan again. “This isn't about her.”

D'Artagnan must know more about this mysterious wife Athos seemed to have loved and lost prior to coming to Paris. Constance studied Athos' face. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused. Had he finished that bottle of wine himself? Was he seeing his wife? He certainly didn't seem to be seeing Constance any more.

All of a sudden Athos shook himself.

“I apologise,” he said, his eyes snapping back into focus. “I got... I got lost for a moment.”

“And now you're back,” Constance said warmly, smiling up at him. Athos returned it weakly and stood, gently pulling them both to their feet

“So we have established we all wish this to be a romantic relationship. I, too, wish for you and I to have more of a bond than simply sharing a bed and bedmate,” Athos said briskly. “I agree that how often of where we share our time will have to be rather flexible but I must have honesty at times from all of us.”

“Of course,” d'Artagnan said at once.

“Absolutely,” Constance agree. “I don't... But I don't... I don't need details, though. I know you both are more... established with each other than with me and I'm not going to ask that you revert back to a new couple to accommodate my joining you. I just don't want to feel jealous or... or... pressured if I know you are... further ahead of me,” she said carefully, her cheeks heating up again.

“Very wise,” Athos said admiringly. “I'm grateful for it as well.” He paused and appeared to be trying to word something. After a few seconds he seemed to give up, though, and just nodded to himself.

There was another silence, this one more tense but pleasantly so. Constance could feel anticipation coiling in her stomach and she knew she was still blushing. She squeezed Athos' hand gently and he looked down, apparently having forgotten they were still all joined. D'Artagnan's hand squeezed as well and Athos looked over Constance's head to look at him. It felt like an age they were stood there while Athos seemed to search d'Artagnan's face for something.

Whatever it was he was looking for, he seemed to find, though, as Athos' calloused hand turned in hers and gripped hers more firmly. As his thumb swept across the back of her hand, Athos leaned in close, tilting to one side. She felt d'Artagnan's body press against her side and she felt a sudden and violent shock of arousal as the two beautiful men kissed gently, their warm, strong hands clasped around hers.

Athos' hands lightly disentangled themselves from the bundle between them and lightly settled on her waist, gently but firmly turning her towards d'Artagnan and, as easily as if they'd choreographed it, the two men stepped to frame her between them. D'Artagnan was smiling down at her, eyes shining with triumph, and she could feel Athos behind her, not pressing against her but close enough that she felt held. His hand still rested on her waist and she smiled to see the other hand resting on d'Artagnan's waist.

D'Artagnan dipped his head to kiss her gently and she sighed against his mouth, not yet used to how soft his lips were. She had only a second to relax when d'Artagnan's hands rested on her hips and gently turned her to face Athos.

Her heart skipped a beat seeing Athos watch her. His pale eyes had lost their searching quality and they were back to that calm, certainty she knew and loved, had always loved about him. That feeling of safety and peace she'd always known in his presence washed over her and she smiled shyly tilting her chin up in invitation. She felt his breath, the tickle of his beard, before she felt the touch of his lips. He was so warm, was her first thought before she lost herself in him.

His hands on her waist were warm, gripping her just tight enough that she felt safe with him and yet not remotely pressured. She moved her lips against Athos' gently and felt him stutter a little before gripping her again. There was a small noise behind her and d'Artagnan's body pressed against her back, his arms going around her to hold Athos. She gave a small moan against Athos at the image of the three of them wrapped together this way and felt him smile in return.

They broke away and Constance knew she was breathing heavily. Lips touched her ear and she gave a breathy giggle. Athos' lips turned up into the sexiest smirk she'd ever seen and her abdomen gave another lurch of arousal at the sight. Her hands were hanging limply by her sides and she raised them, trembling slightly, to rest on his waist, laying beside d'Artagnan's. She gripped the firm leather of his belt as he dipped his head to brush across her lips again.

He was slower this time, his lips still so warm. D'Artagnan kissed the side of her neck and she felt her knees buckle slightly, Athos' hands giving her waist a reassuring squeeze. She sighed in bliss, surrounded by the smell of leather. The heat between the two bodies was wonderful and the security they brought was soothing her nerves. She opened her mouth slightly against Athos and felt his small start of surprise before his head tilted and they began to move against each other.

She felt braver and the soft lips on her neck spurred her on. Gradually she smoothed one hand along the line of Athos' belt to the front of his doublet and began to trail lightly up his chest, toying nervously with the toggles on his jacket. One of d'Artagnan's hands had come back to her hips and was gently pulling her back against him. She sensed his other must be pushing Athos as the Musketeer took half a step forwards. Emboldened, she lay her hand against the opening of Athos' doublet, her fingers spreading slightly to brush against the fine covering of hair. Her fingers brushed against the locket hanging from his neck, she traced the chain lightly and it was like an electric shock went through him.

She pulled her head back in fright to find Athos staring blankly at her face, terror written all over his face, his eyes completely out of focus.

“Athos,” she tried to say, but her mouth was dry.

He didn't seem to hear her. D'Artagnan was still kissing her neck, unaware anything was wrong. The grip Athos had on her waist was too firm. She'd never been pleased in her life to wear a corset but she knew it was the only thing protecting her flesh from the tight, shaking fists his hands had clenched into.

“D'Artagnan,” she said, panicking slightly. “D'Artagnan, stop. Stop!”

The Gascon lifted his head in concern, followed her gaze and immediately stood straight up.

“Athos,” he said, mildly.

There was no response. Nothing. Constance began to feel quite frightened; her hands had dropped from his body but he still had hold of her.

“Let go,” d'Artagnan urged, trying to be gentle as he attempted to get Athos' hands free.

“What's happening, Athos?” Constance whispered.

The fingers on her corset tightened and she could feel the bones of it digging in painfully under the strength of Athos' hands.

“D'Artagnan,” she whispered. “He's lost again.”

D'Artagnan's body left her back and she watched, with growing panic, as the Gascon walked behind Athos and whispered something in his ear. The hands jerked on her waist and d'Artagnan continued to speak in a low urgent voice.

“She isn't here,” he was saying. “It's just me. It's me and Constance. You can trust us. We won't hurt you. She isn't here, it's just us.”

Constance didn't quite have the space to understand the words at this moment but she understood enough to know there was more to this story than the tragic death of a woman Athos loved.

D'Artagnan whispered something else, too quiet for Constance to hear and then pinched his earlobe sharply and the effect was terrifying.

Constance stepped back as soon as she felt the hands on her release but Athos span on his heel, grabbing d'Artagnan's arm, raising it to the ceiling. His other hand came up faster than Constance would have believed possible and went to punch d'Artagnan but the Gascon ducked.

Athos was reacting on pure instinct, though, and grabbed his pistol, clubbing d'Artagnan in the back with it. D'Artagnan fell forwards, his outstretched arms knocking the empty wine bottle to the floor where it smashed.

Constance screamed and d'Artagnan shouted something at her.

“What?” she yelled.

D'Artagnan turned like an eel under Athos and kicked him. The Musketeer staggered back a step, colliding with the wall.

“Get Aramis! Aramis and Porthos!” d'Artagnan shouted.

Constance stood there frozen as Athos turned his pistol and aimed it at d'Artagnan, who kicked out with his long legs, knocking it from the older man's hand.

“Go!” d'Artagnan shouted.

Constance turned and fled.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Aramis strode quickly through the streets, Porthos at his side. While Porthos had had to remove the plug on his own, Aramis tried to get a story out of Constance.

All he'd managed to ascertain was that they'd been talking about their, presumably d'Artagnan and Athos', relationship. Then they'd kissed and Athos had broken down and attacked d'Artagnan. Why kissing d'Artagnan had caused it, Aramis didn't know. Why they'd been kissing in front of Constance was just as big of a mystery.

He spared a glance to Porthos who had been unfairly pulled from the beginnings of serenity and then had to remove the not small toy on his own without Aramis there. He seemed fine, though. He saw Aramis watching and gave a curt nod. Without speaking they began to walk faster, Constance needing to break into a jog to keep up with them.

  
  


  
  


When they entered the kitchen, it was to find d'Artagnan sat on the table, picking glass out of his bleeding hand, watching Athos who was hunched in a corner.

Constance rushed past them to d'Artagnan's side.

“What happened?” Constance asked, full of concern, pulling his hand out and peering at it.

“I just put my hand on the glass. I'm fine,” he answered, only sparing her a brief glance before hopping up and turning to the newcomers.

“What happened?” Aramis asked, with none of the warmth Constance had asked it with.

“We were kissing and he just suddenly snapped. I can't reach him,” d'Artagnan answered.

“You must have done something,” Aramis said, while Porthos crouched beside the silent Athos. “Something different.”

“Well... We... **we** were kissing,” Constance said quietly.

Aramis turned his dark eyes on Constance.

“You and he?”

“And d'Artagnan,” she admitted, her cheeks blazing into colour again.

Aramis nodded once and crossed to where Porthos was murmuring to Athos. He was pleased to see Athos had turned his face to Porthos, even if his eyes were still blank.

“How much has he had to drink?” Aramis asked.

“A whole bottle, I think,” Constance said, hovering uncertainly.

“D'Artagnan. I'm busy. Constance will need to address your hand,” he tossed over his shoulder.

He heard d'Artagnan recognise the dismissal and they both left, leaving the three Musketeers alone in the kitchen.

“Athos,” he said softly, crouching.

“Aramis,” Athos whispered.

“Can you stand?” Aramis asked.

Athos shook his head. Porthos' hand was covering the point where Athos' arms crossed. They were wrapped tightly around his middle as if his insides were going to fall out.

“Yes you can,” Aramis decided, standing himself.

Athos looked up helplessly and Aramis extended a hand. Porthos wrapped his free arm around Athos' back and gradually they got a trembling Athos to his feet.

“Help me?” Athos asked in a heart breaking whisper.

“You're coming to ours before I decide anything,” Aramis said firmly.

“Yours?” d'Artagnan asked, appearing in the doorway.

Aramis shot him an angry look.

“You... Porthos...” d'Artagnan said, haltingly.

Aramis nodded Porthos towards the door and advanced a couple of paces on d'Artagnan while his brothers slowly made their way out the house.

“I don't know what happened and I don't care at this moment,” Aramis said, his voice quiet and yet it made d'Artagnan take a pace back until he hit the door frame. “I told you before that I feel responsible for him in his moments of vulnerability and if you're going to stand in my way then you and I are going to have a serious problem,” Aramis said. His voice remained quiet the entire time but there wasn't a shred of doubt in d'Artagnan's mind that it was a serious and genuine threat.

D'Artagnan leaned further back, finally feeling, for the first time, the raw dominance that flowed from Aramis. He'd seen him be calm, he'd seen him be controlling, he'd seen him be gentle. He'd never seen the level of ferocity that threatening his charges brought out.

The black eyes flicked over d'Artagnan's head to see Constance standing uncertainly in the room behind him. They flicked back down to d'Artagnan.

“I'm aware of your discomfort given your knowledge of our sleeping arrangements but if you think for a second that I will be taking advantage or permitting any more harm or even risk to come to Athos, you have sorely misunderstood my role,” Aramis said and d'Artagnan shook slightly. “If you wish to speak to him before _**I**_ decide he's safe, you will do so with me present and it will be in my home.”

Aramis turned and strode from the house, without looking back.

  
  
  


Porthos felt a wave of relief when Aramis caught up with them in the courtyard. Athos was steadier on his feet now they'd got him up and moving but Porthos wasn't certain he was being heard. Athos just kept muttering 'my fault, can't' every time he was spoken to.

“Any ideas?” he asked Aramis who took Athos' other arm.

“No,” Aramis said, shortly, and they walked back to their house in silence.

  
  
  


As soon as they reached the stairs that led to Porthos and Aramis' home, Athos began to thrash between them and it was with some difficulty they managed to get him up the stairs and hold him steady enough to get their door unlocked. Porthos stepped through first, veritably dragging Athos with him and Aramis followed, closing the door behind him.

“It's all my fault,” Athos hissed desperately, clutching at the folds of Aramis' coat.

“What is? What happened?” Aramis asked, peering closely. He held Athos' arms to get a better look.

Athos didn't answer, simply twisting in his grip to face Porthos who had stayed close behind him.

“Please hurt me,” he whispered. “I need it.”

“Sire?”

Aramis shook his head in answer to Porthos. The situation was too uncertain, too fraught. They'd certainly used pain to pull Athos out of this kind of black mood before but never with the added implication of his relationship with d'Artagnan.

Last they'd spoken of it, d'Artagnan had been able to recognise Athos' need for the stress relief but how to achieve that catharsis without making d'Artagnan jealous had not been resolved. Aramis was not about to jeopardise that relationship, however much Athos begged. He was in no shape to be making decisions.

“Look at me,” he said firmly.

Athos and Porthos were equally powerless to resist the command in his voice but Aramis was only watching Athos.

“Sir,” he gasped, his eyes wild. “Please. I'm so sorry. I need... I need to... To... serve my sentence.”

“No games, Athos,” Aramis answered flatly. Role play had long been a tool they'd used with Athos to help him meet his need for the pain without having to having to face the desire itself. “I will not risk my best friend while you are in such a state. You know full well you must calm down before I'll be willing to do anything else.”

Athos shook his head violently, denying the truth of this long standing requirement.

“Too urgent. She's back. She... she killed... My fault...”

“Shh,” Aramis soothed, well aware there was something else going. They were skirting dangerously close to things Athos had never been able to talk about and, again, Aramis wasn't going to risk going anywhere near them at this moment.

“On your knees,” he said quietly.

Athos stared at him, the first sign of clarity seeping into those pale eyes; a begging Aramis was not unable to interpret. After a moment's hesitation, he understood and complied with Athos' unspoken request.

“Get on your knees, boy,” he demanded, the cold authority Athos needed filling his voice.

Athos lifted his chin in hopeful defiance but this time Aramis shook his head. It was Porthos who answered, his voice quiet at Athos' back.

“You either need this or you don't,” he said gently.

Athos gave no sign he'd heard Porthos other than lowering himself awkwardly to his knees, staring fixedly at the floorboards, his body rigid.

Aramis nodded his head meaningfully to the coat stands and Porthos followed. When Aramis spoke, his voice was low and urgent so Athos could not hear.

“I'm going to bind him but not hurt him,” he said. “Do you agree?”

“I do, Sire. He keeps going in and out,” Porthos answered. “He needs tethering to here, to us.”

“Nail on the head,” Aramis replied, thoughtfully. “I don't want him dressing this up as a role play, as a punishment.” He paused for a moment. “I will tether him to you.”

“Sire?”

“Even in his worst moments, Athos knows everything I do to you is about love. If you are beside him, sharing with him, experiencing with him, he will be unable to escape from that knowledge. My hope is he'll understand this is love for him as well,” Aramis explained, nodding to himself.

“Not alone,” murmured Porthos in agreement. “Going to be tight?”

Aramis nodded.

“Leave your smalls on and kneel beside him,” he said and turned away to take his own belts off.

By the time Aramis had divested himself of sword belt, arquebus, pistol, powders, belt, sash, boots and coat, he turned to find the less elaborately loaded Porthos was already on his knees. He had settled, sensibly, on the rug but was only inches from where Athos, fully dressed, was kneeling on the hard wood floor, staring blankly at Porthos' almost bare form beside him.

Aramis left them there while he went to their locked drawer and moved around the room gathering his supplies. When he came back to them, Athos was still staring at Porthos but his breathing had begun to even out.

“Remove his clothes, mi vida. I want a matching set today,” Aramis said quietly.

He made his way into their small kitchen area and heard a small scuffle and then a clink before Athos' weapons and belts all hit the floor. As he filled the two water skins there was a grunt, a whimper of pain and a soft thump as Athos' doublet joined the pile.

“Then into the centre,” Aramis called and moved into the smallest room without looking at the two men in his living room.

He found, as he expected, the wood he'd made Porthos remove before they went to collect Athos laying on the bed. He gave it a quick wipe and found a small vial of oil stowed in one of the wardrobes to re-oil it with, smirking to himself.

There was a pair of loud clunks from the living room that Aramis guessed were Athos' boots and he moved into his and Porthos' bedroom, this time catching a glance of the two men. Athos no longer seemed to be putting up a fight as Porthos pushed him roughly back to remove his leather breeches. He collected the item he needed, paused to remove his own long boots and returned to find them knelt, as instructed, side by side in the centre of the rug, both in only their linens.

“I want absolute silence,” Aramis stated. “I will give very few instructions and they will be simple. Athos. You are to use the pot and return.”

To his surprise, Athos stood without a word and retreated to their smallest room. Aramis turned to Porthos and gestured for him to stand.

“This will be a touch more fun for you,” he said wickedly. His hands made quick work of the laces on Porthos' linens and he chuckled at the huff of exasperation as Porthos recognised the laces in Aramis' hand.

These were a trio of leather cords, one of which tied around the base of Porthos' cock and balls, pulling them slightly away from his body, the tension and discomfort both helping stop his release. A second, thinner cord wraps around the head of his member, just below the ridge of the spongy head, to stop it thickening without pain. The third and final one attached these two, keeping his penis folded and unable to harden. This cord Aramis left undone, trailing from the first.

“Your peg is waiting for you in the wardrobe. When Athos gets back, you will also use the pot before doing the cord up. Tightly, just how I like,” he reminded Porthos, grinning. “Then I want you to insert the peg and return. You will be sat on it, though, so be gentle.”

“Yes Sire,” Porthos answered, nodding. “Although I'm still-”

Aramis gave him a quick kiss, cutting him off. He quickly released Porthos' linens and redid the knot.

“You always are,” he murmured, just as Athos entered the room.

At once Aramis realised he'd made a mistake with Athos. He wanted to give Athos time to centre himself and steal a moment alone with Porthos but seeing the wild panic back on Athos' face, he clicked his fingers and pointed at the floor by his feet. Porthos immediately dropped to his knees while Athos froze and stood uncertainly, halfway to the rug.

“Now,” Aramis snapped harshly.

Athos walked slowly but as soon as he was within arm's reach, Aramis reached out, grabbed his hair, and threw him roughly to the floor.

“Silence and obedience,” he said crisply.

Athos scrambled up onto his knees and Aramis gently pet his hair.

“Better,” he said quietly and felt an unexpected shudder go through Athos.

“Porthos, go,” he instructed.

The big man obeyed and Aramis crouched in front of Athos.

“I'm not going to hurt you today because I don't understand what's going on,” he said quietly. He raised his voice when Athos looked about to protest. “But I **am** going to help. I am going to confine and control you. You are under my power, Athos, and just like when I hurt you, it is my will that matters. You have put yourself in my hands. I want no protests, no fighting. I want submission today, Athos. You have seconds to decide.”

With that, he stood to retrieve the first items he needed and returned. Athos hadn't moved but was trembling. Aramis didn't comment further.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

Athos looked at him in confusion and Aramis sighed before digging his thumb and forefinger into Athos' jaw, much like you would an animal. He pried Athos' jaw open and unceremoniously shoved the wad of cloth into Athos' mouth, pressing his tongue down. He quickly removed his fingers and pressed a strip of cloth across his lips, parting them, and wrapping it around his head. He tied a small knot in it and set it, not at the back of his head, but continued around until the knot sat between his stretched lips.

Aramis noted that not once had Athos' hands moved from where they rested at his sides and he even seem to have relaxed slightly under the single item of bondage.

“Sit down,” Aramis instructed calmly.

Athos did so and Aramis began to arrange him a bit more tidily. He stretched Athos' legs out in front of him, pressed his back and abdomen until he sat more upright. Porthos returned just as Aramis was standing back up.

“Matching set,” he said quietly. “Back to back.”

As Porthos complied, Aramis moved to crouch in front of him, matching gag in hand. He raised his eyebrows in silent question and got a nod in response. He rudely thrust his hands into Porthos' crotch, feeling the bulge of his bound cock through the linen. His fingertips stroke the cords and he smirked as Porthos' eyes fluttered closed.

Chastity and orgasm denial were mutual favourites of the pair, especially in situations such as this where each touch raised Porthos' arousal, the cords prevented that arousal, raising his arousal and around and around they'd go. The new plug Porthos wore would make this a thousand times worse and they shared a heated look as Porthos shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position as the wood was driven deeper into him by his own body weight.

Aramis got a reproachful look when he inserted Porthos' gag into his unresisting mouth. It was not his favourite thing. He had told Aramis he hated the way it made him feel so helpless and how even any sounds of protest, or even acquiescence, he might wish to make were taken from him. This was, of course, what he also loved about it and today it only added to the control Aramis was putting in place.

Control inside, control outside. That was Aramis' way.

The marksman's mind flashed to the thick wooden plug that was holding him open, the exact way and width he wanted it to. Even the block between his cheeks would be spreading those apart, driving the plug deeper, holding his flesh apart the way Aramis liked to do himself when driving into him.

Control inside, control outside.

Once Aramis had finished securing the cloth around Porthos' head, he pressed a kiss to his lover's stretched and parted lips. He smirked as he pulled away, knowing Porthos' cock would have given another unsuccessful throbbing attempt at reaching hardness. He swept his thumb over Porthos' mouth and dragged himself away to focus on his goal. Calming Athos.

“Backs together,” he instructed softly.

Aramis decided to forgo giving the rest of his instructions out loud. Once the two men were pressed together from hips to shoulders, he tilted his head, pleased to find their height difference wasn't so marked when sat like this and wouldn't interfere with his plans. Aramis uncoiled his first length of rope and used his foot to nudge their hands up into the air slightly. He took them in his own and caught the panicked look in Athos' eye.

“What I want,” he reminded. “What you're going through and feeling isn't the priority right now, Athos. I am. I have you.”

He looked back down and turned their hands until the palms were flat against one another. He left them there as he brought a chair over and sat to one side of them, their hands resting on his thigh.

Starting at their wrists, he wound the rope around their arms, tightly binding them together. He was slow, methodical, and he smiled at the differences in the two men. Porthos' eyes had closed and he could recognise the calm, slow breathing pattern that meant he was slipping into what they'd come to call his “submissive fog.”

Athos, however, was watching the rope's progress up his arm anxiously. By the time Aramis had finished, the only movement the men had was at their shoulder and limited flexibility at their wrists. Aramis had bound their elbows together very carefully and they could get very little distance between them. Even that would require synchronicity, something Aramis had great faith that his Porthos would not provide.

He moved his chair to the other side of the seated men and found Porthos' hand raised in the air, waiting for him. Aramis snapped his fingers impatiently and it was only seconds before Athos' hand joined it in the air.

Repeating the process, Aramis found it very soothing to work in silence and even Athos seemed calmer now, still watching but the anxiety seemed to be fading to curiosity.

He drew a length of twine from the pocket of his breeches and carefully, intricately, bound each of their fingers to its mirror on the other man's hand. At this, Athos tried hard to pull his arm back but Aramis' prediction had held true and Porthos' large arm remained steady, leaving Athos' captive hand to Aramis' designs

“I have all of you, Athos,” he said quietly, looping the trailing end of the twine around the backs of their hands, pressing even their palms inescapably together. He moved to crouch at the other side and repeated the process.

“You once told us that we beat back a thing inside you trying to escape,” Aramis said softly, having to wrestle each of Athos' fingers into position against Porthos' still ones. “No part of you is out of my control in this moment. No part of you is free for it to make its own,” he continued soothingly. “Every little part of you is safe and with me. With us. Porthos is beside you, every step of the way. Each part of you both is under my design.”

Athos seemed to give a choked sob behind his gag but Aramis ignored it.

Instead he moved in front of Porthos and lifted his arms, Athos' having no choice but to follow, until they were pointing up.

“Stay,” he instructed.

Aramis began to sing softly to himself, and partly to his silent partners, as he wound rope tightly around their stomachs, waiting for their breath to allow him to pull it tight enough that no space remained between them and the rope would make itself felt each time they took a breath.

He kept the tension steady as he wound around their ribs and up to their chests. Again, he waited for the dips in their chests before setting the tautness in the rope. He wanted their breaths to be a touch shallower than natural.

Control inside. Control outside.

He was not wholly unable to keep from being mischievous, though. While the rope bypassed Athos' nipples, simply pressing into the muscles of his chest, the rough material passed directly against Porthos' where it would irritate and stimulate constantly. Porthos' eyes were closed so he gave the bound genitals a poke with his stockinged toe. Porthos opened one eye and gave a small nod, his eyes crinkled with a smile. Aramis beamed back at him.

Gently, he lowered their arms, having to be held uncomfortably at their sides, too long to rest naturally at their sides now they were forced straight. Instead, Aramis looped a single length of rope around their wrists and then tied it around their waists. Repeating the action on the other side meant they were able to move their bound, straight, arms closer to their body but hardly at all as their bound and outstretched fingers pressed into the rug. The new rope, however, meant they could no longer raise their arms away from their bodies.

Satisfied, Aramis moved back to Athos and slowly, methodically, bound his legs tightly together. Even his toes were not left untouched, a loop of twine wrapped around each big toe and stretched tightly back to be tied to the rope circling his stomach. Athos' feet gave a small, unsuccessful twitch as he tested the flex in his toes and this time, the look in the grey eyes was pure gratitude and relief.

Finally... there was Athos.

Not a man to leave a task unfinished, he repeated the procedure on Porthos, pressing his thighs together hard enough he knew it would add a light pressure to his already bound and mildly distended testicles.

His final touches were another strip of cloth that wound round, covering their lips, wrapping around both heads, pulling the gags slightly tighter and forcing their heads to rest back against each other. His last strip of cloth wound around their eyes, again binding them together while robbing them of their vision.

He stood watching them for a minute so they both realised he was finished and a sudden shudder went through Athos.

Aramis crouched by Athos' side, his hand resting in his tangled hair, petting gently.

“That's it, Athos. I've got you. Nobody else can hurt you. Nobody else can use you. You can't hurt anyone else,” he murmured. “None of your thoughts matter, none of them have consequence. You don't have to do anything, you can't do anything. You can let go now,” he whispered.

It happened silently. There were no dramatics, no wailing. Just damp patches appearing through the thin layers of cloth around Athos' eyes.

He finally cried.

“That's it,” Aramis soothed. “You just sit there and let go.”

It was one of the hardest things Aramis had ever done, but he stepped away to take a seat in his armchair and let Athos weep silently in his bondage.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :)


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